


The Black Swan

by bazypitchandsimonsnow (ChessPargeter)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Swan Lake Fusion, Angst, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, The Prince and The Swan AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-10-17 20:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 104,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17567486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/bazypitchandsimonsnow
Summary: Prince Simon of Watford hates being a prince. He would rather be with his friends than try to learn tax policy. While adventuring in the scary woods with Penelope, Simon finds a strange boy who somehow transforms from a swan into a human when he sits on a lake. Simon immediately becomes fascinated with the boy and his mysterious existence. And as he learns more, Simon's feelings start to deepen. But when the stakes get higher, can those feelings triumph over their struggles?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome to my big bang! It's super long, I spent hours trying to fix stuff that I'm still not 100% on, and I'm very happy I actually did it. And I really do like it, I'm just way too critical of myself. I wrote this because A) I love fantasy AUs, B) I love the Swan Lake ballet, and C) I love the webcomic based on Swan Lake [ The Prince and The Swan by April Pierce](http://princeandswan.com/) which I recommend you all read it's awesome. So this an AU based off both the ballet and the comic. I'm posting the first two chapters today cause I feel like them together is a good start to the story. I'll post 1-2 chapters per week, depending on school work load and editing troubles.
> 
> Shoutout to my artist [bookerella](http://bookerella.tumblr.com/) who made amazing art for this fic. And another shoutout as always to Mrs_ZombieOctopus because she has been my rock for the past five months through writing this fic and along with a lot of other struggles. She's the best and I love her with all my heart. And after all that, please enjoy the first two chapters of The Black Swan. Hope y'all like it :)

_Burning, everything was burning_

_The whole world was engulfed in flames and reeked of smoke. Simon didn’t know where he was. Only that this body wasn’t his. The arms were small, pudgy, that of a young boy. But he felt the muscles move and the skin heat up with the flames.  They licked at him but didn’t touch, bending away before contact._

_“Darling, where are you?!” a woman’s voice yelled, followed by an ear piercing scream._

_Simon started running immediately. He didn’t know why, just that he had to go. He ran past the creaking wood, the scorched stone, looking for where the voice was coming from. Consciously, he didn’t know who it was, but he knew he had to get to her. A burning beam nearly crushed his head, but he kept going. He needed to get to her._

_“Mum!” His voice shouted. It wasn’t his though, yet it came from his mouth. Rather, it was a child’s voice, desperate and afraid. Simon could feel tears streaming down the boy’s face, created from smoke and fear._

_“Where is she?” Simon asked himself from the boy’s mouth._

_Another scream rang out. Simon started running again. He couldn’t see. There was too much debris and smoke and fire to find anything. But he reached her room eventually, using all his short might to force the doors open. The boy’s mum was standing right in the centre of a ring of fire. Her grey gown was in charred shreds, hair obscuring most of her soot covered face. A thick arm was wound around her neck. She was struggling to breath, from smoke and the person choking her._

_“Mum!” he shouted with voice that wasn’t his again. “Stop hurting her!”_

_“Run,” she rasped out. The person with the thick arm looked at him. His eyes were piercing blue, filled with a killer’s rage. The boy backed up slowly. “Run!”_

_And so he ran. He was running as far as his little legs could carry him, ducking and weaving through the burning debris. She told him to run. So he would, he would do whatever she said. Run, run, run-_

_“Not so fast, brat.” The man grabbed his small fancy collar so hard he choked. His voice was smooth, confident, completely sure of his own power. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got other plans for you._

_He tried to scream, but the man’s grip was too tight for speech. The burning world slowly turned black._

* * *

 

“Simon. Simon. Simon!”

Simon jolted awake so hard his head smacked against his wooden chair. He whined as he rubbed the sore spot. King David stood over him from the other side of the desk. He had his hands on his hips, glaring at his adopted son with extreme disapprovement.

“Yes?” Simon grumbled.

“Were you sleeping when you were supposed to be studying battle techniques?” David asked in a way that meant he knew the answer.

“N-No,” the prince lied with a shaky voice. David kept glaring, and Simon sighed. “I’m just tired from studying, Father, sorry.”

David shook his head, crown shifting on his brown curls. “I’m disappointed, Simon. You’ve been the crown prince full time for a year now, you should know how to cope. I brought you here to be my heir. The least you can do is try.”

Simon picked at his nails, a nervous habit he still hadn’t broken over the years. Another thing David was disappointed in. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Words are meaningless, Simon. Do better. Now come along, we have a council meeting.”

Simon had to suppress a groan. He hated council meetings. They were always so boring. They made him _really_ want to find the executioner so he could be put out of his misery.

He did up his embroidered tunic properly and put the gold circlet back on his head anyway. He wanted all these damn things off so bad. The circlet always got too hot and made his forehead sweat. And the formal attire was so damn itchy. Simon was never comfortable when he dressed like a prince. Even years later, he still wondered if David made a mistake, picking him to be his heir.

David pushed open the council room doors with flourish, green cloak flapping behind him. He always did it so much with flourish, always making a grand scene when he greeted the council. Penny would roll her eyes.

“All rise,” Sir Premal announced, “for his majesty, King David Owens of Watford. And for his royal highness, Crown Prince Simon Owens of Watford.”

The lords stood, hands clasped in front of them respectfully. They all look bored, as usual. Nobility weren’t allowed to enjoy themselves. Simon was pretty sure it was written in the Constitution of Watford Kingdom. Though some of their eyes flicked to Simon and narrowed. He could feel the contempt and snobbery radiating off them. He knew what some of them thought of him deep down; just a lowly orphan painted up to impersonate a prince. Simon couldn’t disagree. A lot of the time, he felt like that too.

David stood at the head with Simon right beside him on a smaller chair. Everyone’s chairs had to be smaller than David’s.

“Be seated,” the king said. All the hardwood scraped on the stone simultaneously. Simon desperately wanted to slump further, but he knew David would yell at him later. It wasn’t worth the ear ache.

The King opened his large leather bound ledger. He kept meticulous finance records. Many would say he was obsessive. And many would be correct. “Now, the tax increases have been fully implemented. Have you all of you have been collecting well?”

His tone made it incredibly clear that this was a question with specific answers. David’s questions always came with specific answers. The lords shifted minutely, the closest they’d ever come to protest, and replied with a monotone “yes” as they handed their bags of collected gold pieces. Not Lord Grimm though. He merely pushed down his burlap sack while staring straight ahead. He rarely spoke during these meetings. Simon assumed it was because David took his late wife’s throne, the same throne that was originally meant to be passed down to his late son but was now going to Simon. Simon couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t like being constantly reminded of his family’s demise either. Maybe not talking made it easier.

“Good,” David said as he checked off every province. “Any disturbances from the people?”

“No,” the speaking lords replied.

“Wonderful.” David snapped his ledger closed. “Now, there’s the matter of the old Hampshire property. It’s fallen into complete disrepair over the past few years, what with Lady Fiona moving and no one else living there. I suggest we demolish it for building materials. The new castle extension needs stone. Any protests?”

No one spoke up, because David’s cold expression told them not to. Not even Lord Grimm said anything, which Simon found surprising. Hampshire was the oldest Pitch family property. They owned it before becoming the royal family. But he said nothing. Just stared ahead with a bored expression. Simon still instinctively shied away though. Lord Malcolm Grimm always looked like a white haired pit viper, calm most of the time but definitely could kill you in an instant. But today was a good day, because Malcolm simply looked at King David, and nodded.

David nodded back. “Good. Lord Grimm, please alert Lady Pitch of this. Are there any other matters we need to discuss?” All the lords stayed silent in response. ”Very well. You’re all dimissised. Farewell, your lordships.”

“Farewell, your majesty,” the speaking lords said.

 _What was the point of this?_ Simon thought. Less than five minutes so the King could take money from the rich people and announce he was destroying a historic building. Penelope said most of these meetings were just so David could flex his power. Simon liked to believe there was something more, but he had to admit she had a point. She was usually right.

As he and Simon were exiting, Malcolm put a hand on David’s shoulder. Simon stiffened. It wasn’t appropriate to touch a king. He remembered the day David first brought him to the castle. His new father had slapped him away when he tugged on his royal sleeve. _“You ask permission to touch a king, Simon. Remember that,”_ he’d said. Simon had always kept to that rule, along with everyone else. Yet David didn’t look upset at Lord Grimm’s discretion. His eyes justs slid over to the side.

“Excuse my boldness,” Lord Grimm said smoothly, “but I have something to discuss with you, your majesty.” His cold brown eyes shifted to Simon. Simon tried not to gulp. “In private.”

Simon looked to his father. David nodded. “Go, Simon. I give you leave for the day.”

The prince grinned ear to ear. “Really?”

“Did I not just say so? Return by supper.”

“Yes, yes, Father, I will.” Simon was already going towards the exit as he spoke.

“Close the door on your way out.” David didn’t say please, because, _“kings are above politeness, Simon.”_

Simon nodded. “Yes, Father.”

As he was closing the door, Simon heard snippets of their extremely hushed conversation. Malcolm looked serious, David looked unamused.

“Insult...too long...,” Malcolm muttered.

“Very well...remember...know your place,” David replied.

Simon was too excited to leave to care for stupid royal dealings. He shut the door and immediately raced down the carpeted hallway. Past the dirty high ceilings and confining stone walls. Even though this castle was only a little over a decade years old, it had the fashions of somewhere old. David wanted it to look ancient, to make it look like his royal line was just as old as the Pitches were. Penny told Simon it was about ego or power or something. Simon didn’t care. He just wanted to leave it right now.

The second he reached his room, Simon stripped off his tunic, making his circlet hit the stone with a tink. He hopped around trying to get his pants off and nearly fell face first on the floor. _That would be rich,_ Simon thought, _a crown prince with a broken nose caused by his own inability to get out of his trousers. What a great future king I am, huh David?_

Simon put on his loose white shirt and filthy riding pants. He wrapped an old scarf around his head, attempting to hide his distinctive bronze curls under the grey fabric. It wouldn’t stop everyone from noticing him of course, but it would stop enough. Enough that he could get to one particular place.

As the reluctant crown prince and graduated student of The Mage School, which sat just to the north of the castle, Simon had enough practice getting from royal property to the town quickly. He used the hidden passageways, weaving through the corridors with ease, greeting every servant by name as he passed by. He ended up in the kitchen, where Cook Pritchard was already preparing for supper.

“Hello, Mrs. Pritchard,” he said, hanging over her counter. “How’s the kitchen?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” she replied. “How’s castle business?”

“Boring, of course. Say, is that a spare scone?”

The cook gave Simon an amused look. “I believe so.”

Simon grinned brightly. Ebb told him he had a smile that could persuade armies to surrender. She was always so nice. “May I please have it?”

Mrs. Pritchard sighed overdramatically as she handed the pastry over. “Only because you asked so nicely, your highness.”

“I told you, call me Simon, please. Your highness is too long.”

“I would, but his majesty insists on formal titles. He’s quite...demanding.”

“Don’t I know it,” Simon grumbled, taking an aggressive bite of the scone. “Thank you, Mrs. Pritchard. Need anything from town?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Those carrots you found last week were lovely, thank you.”

“No problem! Thanks for the scone!”

Cook Pritchard waved as Simon dashed off. “You’re welcome, your highness, have fun!”

He absolutely would. He always had fun on days like this. Simon ran out the wooden doors, over the rawbridge, and across the great lawn. Ebb was standing there with her goat herd, magically trying to rein them in. She waved with her entire arm.

“Good morrow, Simon!” she yelled. Ebb didn’t care for formalities at all.

Simon waved back. “Good morrow, Ebb! Need anything from town?”

“Oh no, I’m alright. Just say hello to Penelope for me!”

“Will do!”

Simon ran over the grass and down the dirt road. The thick brush of the Wavering Wood separated the castle from Watford Town. Most used magic to reveal a path. But Simon didn’t trust his magic, so he knew the forest like the back of his hand instead. He made it through with ease, jumping over fallen branches and across the mossy ground, emerging into the sunlight on the other side. He immediately took a deep breath, exhaling with a long sigh. Outside the stone walls and merwolf moat, he could finally breathe.

Watford Town was the biggest collection of people in the Watford Kingdom. (Both were called Watford, which made geography lessons far too confusing in Simon’s opinion.) Large, tall houses lined busy dirt streets. Stalls were filled with people shouting out prices of their wares. Everyone was bustling and talking and laughing. Soldiers stood on street corners, watching everyone move. Simon strolled past all of them with hands in his pockets. A few of them went wide eyed seeing him, but most people didn’t even notice he was there. He sighed. This town was his real home. And he missed it all the time.

Simon walked through the downtown to the slight outskirts. He knocked on a familiar red door. A few footstep sounds later, it swung open, and Simon was looking Penelope Bunce right in the eye.

“Hey Pen,” he chirped. “Ebb says hi.”

Penny smirked. “Did you have to sword fight Davy to get him let you out during the day?”

Simon grinned even more. “Nope. He just let me go.”

“Wow. Is our good ol’ King going soft in his old age?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” he scoffed. “Can I come in? Or has your Mum finally officially banned me?”

Penny barked a laugh and steps to the side. “Like she could stop me. Get in here, you royal bastard.”

Simon whipped off his scarf off and stepped into the Bunce house. It was big, but not as big as the castle, and it felt much smaller with two adults and four children all together. Simon didn’t mind. He preferred the cozy family feeling here to his large, empty supposed palace.

“How’s the castle been?” Penny asked. Simon groaned and flopped on one of the chairs. “That good, huh?”

Simon grunted. “Bloody nightmare. I thought David was demanding while we were in school, but now he’s got me reading even _more_ books. I think I’m going to slice my throat on a policy manual page one of these days.”

“Oh the horror of reading. Want tea?”

“Yes please. And I’m fine with reading interesting books. But these ones have too many complicated words and not enough pictures.”

Penny sighed heavily as she boiled the kettle with her wand. “I sometimes wonder why we’re friends.”

Simon twisted his head around towards the kitchen with his sunshine smile. “Because I’m nice and charming and you love me.”

“True, untrue, and yes, I do, despite my better judgement.” Penny turned to him. She was smiling a bit, but her eyes were sad. “It’s sort of weird, y’know, not seeing you everyday at school. It’s been almost a year, and it’s still weird.”

Simon sighed. He got up from the chair and strolled over to her. He draped himself over Penny like an affectionate ragdoll, chin on her head and arms around her neck. “I miss you too, Pen.”

Penelope sighed and sunk into his arms for a second. But then struggled out of his grip as the kettle whistled. “Yeah, yeah, I miss you, you big softy. Now get off me and let me make the tea.”

“Of course, will do.” He planted a big wet kiss on her cheek before flopping back to the chair. Penny soon brought over two cups with steaming tea. She took the seat opposite him, and sighed after a long drink. Her whole body relaxed. And it looked like she needed it.

“So,” Simon said, “how’s the new job?”

Penny groaned. “Horrible. You’d think there’d be better work here for a mage, but there seems to be little good use for us outside court or in the North where Micah is. Which means I’m stuck trying to sell cooking ware to people on the street.”

“I wish I could help, Pen,” Simon sighed. “If I become king, I’ll make you and Micah court mages. And you’ll be my head advisor and court mage, promise.”

She gave Simon a strange look over her cup. “You mean ‘when you’re king’, Simon, right?”

Simon sunk into his chair. He shrugged his shoulders high and slumped down. Penny slowly put her tea down and leaned forward. “Simon, you’re the crown prince. You were specifically chosen by King David to be his heir.”

“I know,” he grumbled.

“You can’t pretend you’re not anymore.”

“I know.”

“You have to accept the responsibility of-”

**_“I know!”_ **

The whole house shook slightly. The side table fell over and a crack appeared in the nearby wall. Simon was horrified, his gut twisting with guilt. He put down his cup and rubbed his face up and down. _Stupid magic,_ he thought, _never listens._

“Sorry,” he groaned. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper and this is your house and I’m damaging it. Sorry-”

“Hey, Simon,” Penny stepped out of her chair and stood in front of her friend. She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I just, I hoped you would have accepted this by now.”

Simon sighed, slumping forward. “Yeah, me too. Guess not.” He ran a nervous hand through his tangled hair. “I just don’t know how _I’m_ supposed to be a king. I barely passed my civics classes, I hate policy, I’m terrible at speaking, I can barely use this supposedly amazing magic I have. I’m never going to be like David.”

“Dear Lord, I hope not.” Simon gave Penny a weird look. “Simon, King Davy has made some good changes, but he does it with an iron fist. He just barrels through no matter what the lords or the people say. That’s not a good ruler, that’s a tyrant.”

“Don’t call him that. He’s not all bad. He took me in.”

Penelope sighed, patting him kindly. “I know. Just, don’t try to be like David, Si. Be like you.”

Simon reached up and squeezed her hand. “Okay. And you’ll be my top advisor. Or bodyguard, like Premal.”

She groaned, immediately pulling away from her friend. “Please never compare me to my brother ever again. The boy has a stick jammed so far up his arse you could mistake him for a statue.”

“Too true. He’s so still and slomen that I sometimes I run into him.”

“Please keep doing that. It might make him loosen up.”

Simon sunk further into his chair. “Hm, I’ll try.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. It still felt weird from his crown. It always did. “I don’t want to go back to the castle tonight. David’s going to make me read the geography book again.”

“Well,” Penny said playfully, “I’m not working tonight. We could go exploring the Wavering Wood, like our school days.”

“But we’ve explored all The Wavering Wood,” Simon whined. But quickly, like a lightning flash, an idea came into his wild head. He grinned mischievously. Penny instinctively leaned back.

“I don’t like that look, Simon.” She raised a cautious hand raised.

He stood up, hands on his hips in triumph. “We can explore the Forbidden Lands!”

Penny groaned. She shook her hanging head and walked towards the kitchen. As well as away from her insane friend. “I knew you would say that and I still can’t believe it,” she muttered.

“C’mon, Pen, it could be fun! We’ve been through the Wood enough. We’re old pros. This would be a new adventure!” He followed after her, practically vibrating behind her as she put away the tea blocks.

“Si, the Wavering Wood may be dense, but the Forbidden Lands are different. They’re actually treacherous. Lots of steep slopes and dangerous animals. We could get seriously hurt.”

Simon waved dismissively. “You’ve got good magic, I’ve got a sword, we’ll be fine.”

Penny gave him an unamused look over her glasses. But when Simon put on his pathetic pout, her resolve buckled. He hugged her from the behind. “Please Pen? We don’t even have to go that far in. I just want to go explore somewhere new, have some fun. Like the old days.”

She still looked unamused, but Simon pouted more, rubbing up against her hair like the affectionate puppy he sometimes was. “Please?”

Penelope stayed stoic for only a few more seconds. But soon enough she sighed, posture falling along with her resolve. “Fine,” she groaned, “we’ll go exploring.”

That made Simon, crown prince of all of Watford and most powerful mage in the land, squeal like an excited school boy. He jumped up and down while saying, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“I hope you know that if you die, it’ll be my head on a pike. So stay alive.”

“Of course! And I’ll pay you back. Get you some fancy herbs from the court mage’s cabinet.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Si.”

He hugged her tight again. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

Penny leaned against him. Simon put his cheek on her hair. He really did miss this. Mage’s School was tough, what with his lack of magical raising and previous poor schooling, but he met Penelope and Agatha. And for the first time in his life, he had real friends. He never thought he needed one until them. Now, he missed seeing them everyday so damn much.

Simon wanted an adventure. Like the great magical prince he thought he would be the day David took him in. Just one. That was all he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to bookerella for the awesome art. And if you're enjoying it so far, click on to chapter 2!
> 
> EDIT: So I just noticed the art doesn't show up on mobile. That fucking sucks and I cannot fix it. So if you wanna see the art for this chapter, feel free to check out the tumblr post [here](https://bazypitchandsimonsnow.tumblr.com/post/182668843713/the-black-swan) :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Penelope go on their adventure, and Simon finds something he didn't expect.

Simon had elevated sneaking out his castle to an art form. He did it for the first time when he was only eleven, just a week after he moved in. He’d left his favourite red ball behind and he wanted it back. It had never occured to Simon to ask permission to leave. He’d never asked before, because no one was ever watching him closely enough to be concerned. But when he tried to walk out the front door, the guards had stopped him. Then David yelled at him for an hour.

 _“You’re a prince now, Simon. For God’s sake, you can’t just leave when you like!”_ he’d said.

 _“Why not?”_ A young, ignorant, eleven year old Simon had replied.

_“Because you're too damn important to get hurt! I can’t have you dying just after I’ve acquired you!”_

Penelope thought David was cruel and considered Simon his property. Simon reminded her that David still took him in when everyone else was too afraid. He was overprotective, not evil. But Simon wasn't a child anymore, and he wanted to explore. He still felt a bit guilty. David was just trying to keep him safe. Simon would be fine though. The King didn't need to worry.

Simon secured his sword to his back, his knife to his belt, and threw on the heavy black wool cloak. In the dark, he’d look like a shadow, or a mysterious hero. Either would work. He threw the long rope out his bedroom window. It was the perfect length, measured out exactly over the years. Simon repelled down the stone wall with ease. He hit the ground with zero noise. Then he was off.

He jumped over the moat with only a bit of magic, but still launched himself too forcefully and he almost fell on his face as he landed. With only a stumble, he was running across the great lawn at breakneck speed. Through the Wavering Wood and across the downtown he went until he reached the Bunce house. Penny’s room was on the third floor. Simon wasn’t only a skilled window-escaper, but a damn good climber as well. He shimmied up the support pole and tapped on the third floor glass. The double windows sung open, revealing an annoyed Penelope.

“You can’t throw a pebble at my window? Or knock on the front door like a normal person?” she hissed.

“Okay. 1: Your mum would actually kill me if I woke her up at this time. 2: Pebbles wouldn’t make enough sound for you to hear. And 3:” He kept an arm around the pole and leaned out, stretching out so his cloak flapped in the wind. He liked to be grand sometimes. “This is much more fun.”

Penny rolled her eyes with a smile. “Weirdo. Meet me outside in a second.”

Simon saluted. “Will do!”

Penny shut her window and Simon jumped to the ground. He use his magic to cushion his fall a bit, cloak flapping up. His feet still stung from the impact but he wasn’t injured. That was the best he could hope for with his magic.

She emerged from the front, dressed in her own black cloak. Her big purple ring glowed slightly in the dark. A mischievous grin was pulled across her face. As much as she mocked Simon’s desire to explore, she loved it too. She liked being a great hero as well. The two of them pretended all the time when they were small. And now, here they were again. Penelope and Simon, fearless adventurers, off into the Forbidden Lands

Simon took her hand. “Ready?”

Penny squeezed once. “Absolutely.”

The pair ran off towards the east. The houses became sparser and sparser, fading from metropolis to wild nature. More trees, thicker grass, wilder plants. Simon and Penny’s boots cracked the twigs and crushed the foliage. They ran and ran, until they reach their destination. Simon screeched to a halt. His blue eyes were wide.

“Wow,” he gasped. “It’s just, wow.”

“Yeah, that’s an apt description,” Penny chuckled.

The ancient trees towered over them. They were like old giants, arms made from twisting branches, bodies of cracking bark, and feets of thick twining roots. The setting sun shone through the small spaces between them. Glowing oranges and fiery reds seep out to illuminate the mossy ground. It wasn’t dark, but it was dark enough to be a tad frightening. Just enough to make Simon’s excited heart race.

He tugged Penelope towards the Forbidden Lands. “Let’s go.”

They entered cautiously, still hand in hand. Their steps were incredibly loud in the darkening silence. Simon observed everything around him. It was all interesting. Tree trunks  and vines and strange flowers of every colour. Simon’s pulse was beating like a rabbit’s. Anything could happen here. A monster could leap out from a dark corner. He’d battle it with his sword and emerge triumphant. Or a path that lead to another world, filled with magic. He and Penny would be sent on a great quest that would end with them winning riches and adoration. It was all so exciting to think about.

“This is incredible,” Penny whispered. “There’s so much here.”

“I know, right?” Simon giggled with a smile. “Why does have to David forbid it?”

“Because he’s a control freak?”

Simon sighed heavily. “Not right now, please, Pen. Let’s just explore.”

Penny squeezed his hand. “Alright.”

The pair of them went deeper and deeper in. The sun was getting lower, and the branch canopy thicker. Simon lost sight of where they came in. There didn’t seem to be any exit anymore. But they didn’t stop. Deeper they trekked. Further into unknown. Every time there was a bump, Simon nearly grabbed his sword and Penelope’s ring finger twitched. But they still didn’t stop.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, Simon’s eye was caught by a dim purple glow. It was coming from the twilight, but from the ground. He stopped suddenly. Penny ran right into him.

“Ow,” she grunted, “what the fuck, Si?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“What’s what?”

Simon pointed to the glowing. “That.”

Penelope stopped rubbing her aching nose to follow Simon’s finger. She gasped very loudly in the relative quiet. Loud enough to make Simon worried.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

She dropped to her knees and started digging through the thick foliage. The glowing got brighter and brighter until Penny stopped. She squealed with excitement.

“Pen, what’s-

She looked at him with a huge grin. Simon had never seen her so elated. “Hyacinthinus candentius!” Simon was very confused, and his expression conveyed that clearly. “Glowing violets!” Still confused. Penelope sighed and shook her head. “They’re a special kind of flower that glows at night time. It’s incredibly rare. I’ve only read about it in my potion making books. Oh, I need to get a few samples. Can I borrow your knife?”

Simon sighed and handed over his dagger. Penny carefully started cutting at the plant. Simon had to keep himself from groaning. At least an hour in the forbidden lands, and the most interesting thing they’d found was a glowing flower. What a let down. He lazily walked forward a bit, head tilted upwards. There was a slight gap in the tree covering, just enough to see the sky. It was glowing deep purple too, minutes away from night time. Thin clouds rolled over him. Birds flying in a V shape flew close to the ground.

Wait, what was that?

Simon squinted, trying to see better. The birds were white with long graceful necks. Swans, that was the name. But at the head of the V, the swan was completely black. It’s feather’s were dark as pens ink. Simon had never seen anything like it before. There was another thing too. Something shiny, glinting in the low light, hanging off the black swan’s neck. Was that...a necklace? Since when did birds wear jewellery? The hell?

“Hey Pen, I’m gonna look at something,” Simon whispered. Penny didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure she heard him but he kept going anyway.

He followed the strange bird as best he could, what with the trees obscuring most of the sky. Whatever glimpse he got, he took, ducking and weaving between trees to keep pace with them. They got lower, closer to the forest. Simon saw it was definitely a necklace. A bird wearing a necklace. It was so dumb and weird, but it was something. And it definitely intrigued him more than glowing flower. The flock got closer and closer, going faster and faster. Simon had to run to keep up. They suddenly dived straight down.

“Where the fuck are the-”

And then Simon fell.

He fell, and fell, and fell a bit farther just for good measure. He curled in on himself and covered his head. The whole world spun as he tumbled over dirt and tree roots and rocks. Until he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

“Ow,” Simon whined, rubbing his aching, well, everything. It all hurt. It was a bad fall. Without his magic probably instinctively protecting him, he’d be much worse off. Slowly, he raised his head and his eyes focused on his surroundings.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

It was...beautiful. Simon had landed in some sort of huge basin, collapsed just behind a bush. The land curved down into a bowl shape, surrounded by thick trees to hide its existence. The tall edges were covered in old vines interspersed with roots and rocks. Like someone had scooped the ground out a thousand years ago and nature grew around it. Thick grass was at the edge, where Simon landed, and just to his left was a very small wooden cottage. It couldn’t fit more than one or two people. Floating lights dimly illuminated the area. They looked like the ones Penelope would use when she was up late studying at school. Right in the centre of all this was a shining blue lake, where the swans were floating. Including the black necklace wearing one.

The bird was still a bit far away, but Simon could certainly get a better look. It really was very strange looking. Every feather was impossibly dark as night, contrasting it’s bright white companions. It still had the same characteristically graceful neck and head with a long orange bill as them though. But Simon was most stunned but it’s eyes. Swans were supposed to have beady black eyes, and the white ones did. But the black swan’s eyes were strange. They had white parts, like a human’s, and grey irises. Not just grey though. It was dark green and dark blue mixed together. Like the deep sea.

“What the fuck are you?” Simon asked, more himself than the bird.

Suddenly, the blue water started glowing under the black swan. It bubbled and churned beneath the bird like it was boiling. Simon was beyond confused.

“Wha-”

The swan started growing larger, nearly tripling in size in mere seconds. It stretched its majestic wings up towards the sky. And then they weren’t wings. They were strong human arms, with two very human hands and ten very human fingers. The swan’s body absorbed the dark feathers and stretched up and out, quickly becoming a muscled back with smooth reddish gold skin. Paddling webbed feet shifted and grew into long legs with toes touching the lake floor. Finally, it’s bill shrank, it’s head grew, until everything about the swan had transformed from bird to distinctly human.

The water stopped glowing and bubbling. The strange young man had a lean build, night black hair, and a thin silver chain around his neck. He turned his head to the side, letting Simon glimpse his angular, elegant face and slightly crooked long nose. Most importantly, Simon saw his eyes. Dark green mixed with dark blue. Deep sea water.

He was a gorgeous man, who just a minute ago had been a black swan. And was now completely naked.

Simon had to suppress a very frightened and surprised squeak.

The swan- The boy- The Swan Boy let out a long sigh. He stretched his arms up as far as he could, then rolled his head side to side and rubbed his neck. With two hands, he pushed his incredibly long wavy hair further out of his face. It reached the middle of his back in a slightly tangled mess. Frankly, it looked like he hadn’t gotten in a haircut in years. But he was tall and muscular, with swirling grey eyes and incredible cheekbones. Tangled hair didn’t diminish those at all.

Swan Boy waded through the lake towards the shore near the cottage. Sitting at its doorstep was a pile of folded clothes. He quickly threw on the long white shirt and grey trousers, tying a thin rope around his waist. It was a simple Watford peasant’s outfit, familiar to Simon from his own childhood. Swan Boy used up a fat red ribbon to tie his long hair back with a perfect bow. He finally looked decent. And Simon couldn’t hide any longer.

With shaky legs, Simon stood up from behind his bush. Swan Boy didn’t notice. Simon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. What could he say? What do you say to a man who was just a swan? Well, you could at least say hello.

“Um,” Simon said meekly, “hi.”

Swan Boy’s head whipped around so fast his ponytail almost hit him in the face. His grey eyes were wide and filled with so many emotions. Fear, panic, shock, everything Simon should’ve expected. He stumbled away, bracing his hand against the cottage wall.

“Who...who the fuck are you?!” he asked. His accent was rough, but had a slightly posh undertone. Simon couldn’t place where he was from.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking at the ground. “Uh, I sorta fell down here, following you. Well, swan you. But then the lake glowed and-” He met Swan Boy’s scared eyes. “You were just a swan.”

His grey eyes went even wider, hand on the wall tightening. “No I wasn’t,” he said quickly.

They stared at each other, frozen and gazes locked for awhile. Simon blinked in utter confusion. His head slowly tilted to the side.

“Y-Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I just saw you though...”

“You don’t know what you saw.”

“Yeah I do!” Simon stepped forward with hands on his hips. “You were a black swan sitting on the lake. Then the lake glowed and you turned into,” Simon gestured wildly at him, “you!”

Swan Boy took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, “you can’t know. You can’t be here. No one’s supposed to be here. If he sees-”

There was a rumbling in the near distance. Swan Boy’s hands fell down. His face looked even more fearful than before. Even his hands were shaking. He looked at the sound, then Simon, the sound, then Simon again. The cogs were obviously turning in his brain. It reminded Simon of Penelope when she was thinking.

“Get in the house,” Swan Boy muttered.

“What?” Simon replied dumbly.

He rolled his eyes, then stomped over to the door and pulled it open with quite a bit of anger. “Get in here. Stay out of sight. Do _not_ come out until he leaves.”

“Until who leaves?”

The rumbling got closer. Swan Boy pointed frantically at the entrance. “Just get in if you don’t want to die!”

That got Simon’s attention. He didn’t even know this strange Swan Boy, but he also really didn’t want to die. And going into a cottage wouldn’t kill him right?

“Okay, okay,” Simon said, running in the door.

It was as simple inside as outside. Nothing more than a single room with a tiny fireplace, a cot, a pine blanket box, and a couple stacks of books. It reminded Simon of his room at the orphanage. Sparse to the point of poverty, not simple comfort.

Swan Boy pushed him further in. He jabbed a bony finger at Simon’s face, mouth pulled into a scowl. “Lay down, hide under the window. Don’t move, don’t talk, don’t even breathe.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “But I have to breathe. To survive and stuff.”

“Ugh, right, of course,” he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I mean, just don’t make any noise.”

“O-Okay.”

“Now!”

“Okay, fine!” Simon flopped down to his stomach, pressed up against the wall under the sole tiny window. He glared up Swan Boy. “This good enough?.”

Swan Boy glared right back. His eyes were daggers. “Just be quiet.”

He closed the door quietly, but Simon was sure he’d have slammed it if he could.

The thundering had gotten incredibly loud. Like a storm right on the doorstep. Simon had to grit his teeth and cover his ears. But then there was a deafening clap, followed by silence. Simon slowly released lowered his hands. The conversation was already half started.

“No, I have not left, Sir. There’s no point,” Swan Boy said. His voice was steady, but smaller than before.

“I’m only asking to be safe. You’ve tried before,” another person replied. He sounded deep, gravelly, almost inhuman. It had to be magically altered. No real person sounded like that.

“That was years ago,” he muttered. There was suddenly a loud thunder clap.

“Do not speak to me like that!” The strange person boomed so loud it shook the cottage.

A pause, then Swan Boy cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir.”

“You damn well better be sorry. Don’t forget, you’re only alive by my allowance.” The person took a deep breath. “Now, do you require anything new? Food? Books?”

“I find my own food, but I could always use more books.”

“Fine.”

There was another pause. Simon’s curiosity got the better of him. He lifted his head slightly, just to peak out the window. Swan Boy was standing near the lake. In front of him was a hooded figure, face completely obscured. Simon guessed from his build that he was a man, but it could only be a guess. The cloak was simple grey wool with no markings whatsoever. This man didn’t look that intimidating, just mysterious, but Swan Boy had his arms crossed and shoulders hunched. His face was calm but his entire body spelled afraid.

Cloaked Figure reached out towards Swan Boy. He flinched but didn’t back away. Figure grabbed his ponytail, clutching it in his black gloved hand. Swan Boy winced.

“Your hair has gotten too long,” he said with grave disapprovement, his fake voice only enhancing the intimidation. “It must be cut.”

“Understood,” Swan Boy said.

Figure reach inside his cloak. He moved so fast Simon could barely register what happened. In a flash, Swan Boy’s ponytail was sliced off just above the ribbon. His raven hair fell into an uneven curtain around his face, long in the front and far shorter in the back. Instead of throwing the hair away, the Figure put it inside his coat. _Must not like to litter,_ Simon thought.

“Much better,” Figure said. “I’ll bring you more books in three days time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Swan Boy said quietly.

“Have a good night, Basil.”

“Good night, Sir.”

The thundering started again. Smoke formed under Figure’s feet. It quickly encased his entire body, making him indistinguishable from a storm cloud. He rose up and out of the lake. Swan Boy, or Basil possibly, watched him go. Soon, he sighed, tension quickly leaving his body. His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand over his face. He picked up a piece of black hair, rolling it between his fingers as he looked at it sadly. Simon didn’t like his face sad. It seemed wrong for someone so pretty to be so forlorn.

Swan Boy/Basil strolled over to the lake. A white swan waded close to the shore. He sat next to it and petted it’s head. The bird nuzzled against him, and though Simon could only see a corner of his face, he swore there was the hint of a smile

Simon finally got up from the floor and left the cottage. Like approaching a wild animal, he cautiously stepped towards the other boy, stopping a few feet behind him.

“Your name is Basil?” he asked.

Maybe-Basil jolted, making his swan friend honk and flap its wings. He whipped around to face Simon with a shocked expression. “Good God,” he panted. “I forgot you were here.”

“Sorry. So, is your name Basil?”

He turned away, keeping his back to Simon. “None of your business.”

Simon huffed. “Fine, be like that, Swan Boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed.

“You won’t tell me your name. What else am I supposed to call you?”

“You’re not supposed to call me anything, you’re supposed to leave.”

Simon huffed again, crossing his arms. “You’re not very nice.”

“Gold star for the observation,” he snapped. “Now go.”

“Wish I could just go, mate, but I told you, I fell by accident. I have no clue how to get out. Could you point me to exit?”

He whipped his head again. His mouth was turned into deep scowl and his eyes were filled fire. Simon swore the air itself was heating up. “Do you think I’d still be here if there was one?!”

 _Shit,_ Simon thought, _bad Simon, watch your words._ “S-Sorry, that was really rude, so sorry.”

Swan Boy scoffed and looked away again. The guilt sat horribly in Simon’s stomach. He barely knew this man, but he hated seeing anyone upset, especially when it was his own fault. Cautiously, he sat near the other boy. Not too close to make him uncomfortable, but enough to show he wasn’t afraid.

“My name is Simon, by the way,” he said quietly. He didn’t mention the Crown Prince part. He preferred being just Simon if he could.

Swan Boy-or-Basil didn’t respond for awhile. Simon tried to occupy himself by watching the lights, watching the swans, but he was naturally restless. His fingers drummed on his knee, foot jittering up and down. He usually didn’t mind silence. But this was so tense, so precarious. It made his heart thump far too hard.

“Baz,” Swan Boy whispered.

“What?” Simon replied like the idiot he knew he was.

“Basil is my full name,” he said a bit louder. “But I prefer Baz. It’s shorter, easier to say.”

Simon looked over, and Basil, or Baz he supposed, was petting the white swan again, body curled in on itself. His face tried to look neutral, but he was biting at his lip. He shifted uncomfortably, moving away from Simon but not too far. He didn’t seem used to sitting near someone. Simon was pretty sure he wasn’t used to people in general.

“Okay,” he said cheerily. “Hi, Baz. Nice to meet you.”

He offered his hand like David taught him, to be polite. Baz jerked away. He seemed more shocked than afraid. But still, it wasn’t a good reaction. Simon started lowering his arm, but then Baz cautiously reached forward as well. Slowly, with massive amounts of unsureness from both, their hands met. Baz’s palms were incredibly rough. His skin was somehow more callused than rough-and-tumble Simon’s. Though eight years of palace living had smoothed his out a bit. Baz shook once then pulled away very quickly. He immediately went back to petting his swan. And silence reigned like a tyrannical king for a long time

“So,” Simon let the vowel drag out slowly, “you live here?”

Baz scoffed. “Obviously.”

“It’s really nice.”

“You don’t have to pretend you like it,” Baz muttered, focusing intensely on his pet.

Simon gave him a confused look. “I’m not pretending. It’s very pretty here. The lights, the lake, everything.”

Baz didn’t say anything. He scratched under his bird’s bill and stroked it’s wing. He obviously had great affection for this animal. Simon leaned closer.

“Is that one your brother or sister?” he asked. “Or your Mum or Dad or something?”

Simon had never seen someone whip their head around so fast. Baz’s expression was dizzying array of confusion, frustration, and anger. Simon had seen it before; every time he asked a question so stupid that David couldn’t believe he’d let the words out of his mouth.

“What the fuck!?” Baz spat. “No! No, of course not. Where the fuck did you get that?!”

Simon shifted nervously and scratched his neck. He stared at the ground intently. “I-I don’t know. That swan seems to really like you and you were just a swan like ten minutes ago. And I guess I want to know if you’re a guy who turns into a swan or a swan who turns into a guy. But I’m bad at making my words...work right.” He buried his face in his hands. “Sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

He didn’t look up. He could feel the shame bubbling in his gut. This was an old situation. Him saying something dumb without meaning to, getting yelled at for it and absolutely deserving it. Nine years and the habit was still unbroken. Simon was still an idiot.

“I’m a human first,” Baz said quietly. “Swan second.”

Simon lifted his head slowly. When he looked at Baz, the other boy surprisingly wasn’t angry, not like David was. He didn’t look happy either, because Simon wasn’t sure his pretty pouty face was capable of that. He was just calm, maybe even understanding.

The prince nodded. “Okay, cool.”

They went silent. Simon was afraid to ask a dumb question again, so he focused on kicking clumps of dirt into the lake. He had little idea of how to act in normal social situation. And this was far, far beyond normal.

“Did you actually just fall down here?” Baz asked.

Simon rubbed his neck. “Uh, yeah, I did.”

“Just, tripped into a ten foot hole in the ground?”

“Yes...”

Baz scoffed. “You’re a special kind of idiot, aren’t you?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Simon chuckled in an effort to cover up his embarrassment. “That’s what everyone says.”

He sighed as his shoulders slumped forward. “Well, you should probably find a way to get out of here.” He paused for a moment, focusing on his swan friend. “You can,” he whispered, so quiet Simon barely heard it.

Simon’s eyes flicked over. Baz’s face was stone, making him look even more like a statue than his bone structure did. Simon’s mind went back to what he heard, when Baz was talking to the hooded man. _“No, I have not left, Sir. There is no point.”_

“Oh, okay,” Simon stuttered. “I’ll find a way.”

He almost asked if Baz wanted to come with him. But he quickly shut his mouth. From the cold, tense look on his face, Baz truly couldn’t leave, and it caused him far too much pain.

Simon walked up to the sloping wall. It really was ten feet tall. Thick tree roots dove in and out of the dirt like sea serpents in the ocean. _Possible foot holds,_ he thought, _but covered in moss._ He placed a hand on the wood, feeling slippery moss. Simon needed something to hold onto. Something steady...

He unsheathed his longsword. It wasn’t his favourite weapon, but it was useful. Simon gripped it tight, and thrust the blade right into the dirt. He held onto the hilt as he swung his feet up on the tree root. He slipped and slid but didn’t fall. He wrapped his free arm around another root. Simon removed the sword, then plunged it into a higher, and hoisted himself onto the next foot hold he had. It worked! Simon giggled quietly to himself. Penny would be proud of his ingenuity.

Simon turned his head back towards the lake. Baz’s head whipped around, facing the water, but he had quite obviously been looking at Simon. His face was hidden by the veil of black hair. Simon wondered what his expression was. He hoped Baz wasn’t sad, but that was unlikely. He didn’t seem the happy kind. Which was sad in it’s own way.

“B-Bye,” Simon said weakly.

Baz didn’t even acknowledge his farewell. He petted his swan and sat at his lake. Simon’s departure had no seeming effect on him. Which didn’t hurt Simon’s stupid vulnerable feelings, not at all.

The prince scaled the wall, hoisted himself up and up and up, until he almost reached the top. The edge was right there. Simon got his hand on it, about to get out. He turn his head slightly. Baz was smaller now, but he was still there, sitting by the lake. A seemingly constant fixture, unable to move forward, to change. Simon wondered how long he’d been one in this lake.

“Simon?! Simon, where are you?”

Penny’s voice triggered an automatic response in Simon. He threw himself over the edge, onto the proper ground. His legs were weak from climbing, but he stood tall with an arm on the tree.

“I’m here Penny!” He yelled into the endless dark.

Rapid footsteps got closer and closer. Simon watched a familiar figure emerge from the trees and immediately slam into him, nearly knocking him off balance. Penny crushed him in her arms.

“Hi, Pen,” he chuckled. “Worried about me?”

Penny pulled back, and promptly smacked her best friend over the head. “What the hell, Si?! You just vanished! Dear God, if you died, Davy would’ve gone ballistic, Watford wouldn’t have an heir, and I-I-” She sniffled and wiped her nose. Simon couldn’t see her face that well, but he could guess she was crying a bit. She hugged him tightly again. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, arsehole.”

Simon squeezed her tight, reassuring for both him and her. “I’m sorry, Penny. I shouldn’t have scared you.”

“Damn right.” She pulled back, glaring with confusion. “Where the hell were you anyway?”

“Oh I was just over-” Simon turned around, pointing at the the grotto. But there was no grotto. No lake or swans or floating lights. Only more darkness and trees. “It...was right there...” he whispered.

“What was right there?”

 _Just a magical lake where a black swan who’s actually a boy lives. Y’know, the usual,_ Simon thought, but he didn’t dare say. Baz barely tolerated Simon seeing him by accident. He probably wouldn’t appreciate another person knowing he was there. And really, Simon wasn’t sure Penny would believe him. Simon wouldn’t believe it he hadn’t actually seen it himself five minutes ago. Maybe he should just explain it later...

“Uh, a really cool big rock,” he said. “I swear I just saw it. Had all these cool markings and shit. I must’ve gotten turned around.”

Penny sighed with utter exasperation. “Yeah, I can believe that. You get lost turning left. So stop wandering off!”

She poked his chest hard enough to make him stumble. Simon chuckled, grabbing her hand. “Will do, Penny. Maybe we should get out of here. I’m a bit adventured out.”

“Yeah, me too. Let’s head home.”

They walked hand in hand back towards the forest edge. But Simon tired to commit landmarks to memory. A gnarled root, a strange flower, in case he needed to remember where he was. In case he ever had the chance to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some of you, or let's be honest, most of you, have probably already figured out what's going on. If so, I kindly ask for you to please not spoil it for those who haven't in the comments. Thanks :) I know it's obvious, but I hope you guys instead enjoy watching the characters learn, grow, make connections, and figure out what's going on for themselves. We may know but they obviously don’t know just yet. Just you wait though :D Until next time friends!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon hasn't found Baz again, and it's starting to get to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to make it clear, I'm planning to update every Monday and every other Thursday. That may change based on mine and bookerella's schedules/work but that's the plan! So if you like this fic, that's the ideal schedule. Hope y'all enjoy chapter three :)

Simon liked to be outside the castle when he could. David wanted him inside the castle most of the time, so he seized his freedom whenever possible.

He sat on a hill near the Mage’s School behind the castle. Leaning against a tree, dressed in a simple tunic, sketchbook on his propped up knees. His fingertips were tinted black from the charcoal. He kept trying to draw Baz’s face, trying to keep his image alive, but none of the pictures felt right. Many pages had been sacrificed on the altar of Simon’s artistic insecurity. First the eyes were too big, then too small, mouth too close to a smile then too much like a frown, cheekbones not sharp enough, hair not choppy and wavy enough. It never worked. It never looked like him.

Simon knew his memory was slipping. And he knew the only way to refresh his mental image lay hidden in the Forbidden Lands. But he still hadn't found him again.

It had been over a week since he had literally stumbled on the hidden lake and Baz. Over a week of trekking out into the dark woods and finding nothing. It was so strange that Simon had almost started to think it wasn’t real. A boy who lived in a hidden lake in the middle of the woods and turned into a swan? Insane. Improbable. Something from a time of fairy tales long passed in Watford. There were no more great magical mysteries in the land, not for centuries. Just magical lessons and magical wars and magical cleaning of kitchenware. Magic wasn’t a tool of cryptic things anymore.

But there was a boy, who turned into a swan, living in a hidden lake.

“Hello, Simon, how are you?” Simon jolted, head hitting the tree. He hissed and rubbed the sore spot. “Oh no, are you alright?”

Simon looked up at Ebb, her pale blonde hair shining in the sunlight like a halo, and smiled. “Yeah, Ebb, I’m fine.”

She sat next to Simon in front of the tree. Her staff sat across her lap as she placed a hand on Simon’s aching skull. Simon leaned a bit into the touch. He hadn’t received a lot of physical affection growing up, it was understandable. “I’m very sorry, darling.”

“It’s _fine,_ Ebb. My head can take much worse.”

That made her frown, which made Simon frown. He didn’t like to upset Ebb. Or anyone for that matter. “Well, it shouldn’t take anything.” She looked down at his sketchbook. “What are you working on there?”

Simon sighed, forlornly gazing at the mess of charcoal smudges his latest page was becoming. “I don’t know. It was supposed to be...someone.” Simon didn’t know how to explain Baz. And frankly, he was too tired to try right now.

“Hm, well, you seem to be struggling.”

“Yeah. I keep fucking up and I hate it.”

“Oh don’t be like that, love, it’s fine.”

Simon looked up. Ebb was smiling genuinely, even if it was only a small smile. He smiled back. “Thanks, Ebb.”

They fell into silence. Ebb was watching her goats, making sure they didn’t go too far. If they did, she just mumbled a spell, waved her stick, and they turned back. Ebb practically breathed magic. She was as powerful if not more so than Simon. She didn’t know as much about stuff as Penny (no one did), but she might know something...

“Hey, Ebb,” he said, “do you know how to find someone who’s hidden? From like, everyone?”

Ebb’s pale eyebrows raised quite high. “That’s a bit of a strange question, Simon.”

“I know,” he groaned. “But, I keep looking and I can’t find anything. It seems hopeless. And I’m wondering if there’s no point.”

“Does this person want to be found?”

He shrugged up to his ears. “I’m not sure. So I just want to...check, I guess. Maybe see if he wants to see me. But I have to find him first and that hasn’t been successful.”

“Well, you’re working so hard, but _why_ do you want find him?”

“Because-” Simon’s voice cut off. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t get them out. Because of a lot of things. Baz was strange, new, impossible, exciting, everything he heard at storytime as a kid. But it all came down to one thing, he guessed.  “Because, I want to learn more about him.”

“Hm, I see.” Ebb scratched her chin like a contemplative scholar. “Well, I’d say check out the royal library. There’s a whole shelf on location spells there.”

Simon jolted upright. “Really? A whole shelf?!”

Ebb nodded. “Yup. I remember seeing it back when I was in school. We were allowed to wander the library freely as students in the old palace. I bet there’s something in the new one you could use.”

Simon felt like an idiot. Of course, the library. He hadn’t even thought to look there, because David didn’t like anyone going in there except him or an occasional Mage’s School teacher. Simon had certainly been conditioned well to avoid it. Worse, Simon hadn’t even thought to use a spell. Magic with him was too unpredictable. But looking on foot certainly wasn’t working. Maybe magic was the only answer.

“I can try that, I gues. Though it won’t be easy.”

“Is it worth the trouble? To find him?”

Slowly, Simon nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Ebb put a friendly arm around his shoulders and patted him kindly. “Good. I’m sure you can do it. I believe in you, Simon”

Simon leaned against her. The scratchy wool of her sweater was comforting on his cheek. “Thanks, Ebb.”

“You’re very welcome.”

She put her head on top of his, and they sat together. Just watching Ebb’s goat herd graze while birds flew over head in the blue sky. Simon was more confident now in his quest, but right now he was tired and didn’t feel like moving. So he leaned into Ebb, because he liked physical affection, and because he liked her. It was easy to forget he was a prince with Ebb. She didn’t care for titles or great power, just for him.

He would start his adventure in a bit. After he sat with his friend for little awhile.

* * *

 

“Why is nothing here bloody labelled?” Simon muttered, voice loud in the echoey room. There were no sections or markers telling him which books had which spells. Simon had always been given any books he needed, by David or Mage’s School. It was both a blessing and a current annoyance that he had never had to sort through this goddamn mess before.

The royal library made absolutely no sense to Simon. There didn’t seem to any real logic to how the books were sorted. They looked pretty, arranged in groups of similar colours, and that was about it. Simon wandered up and down the tall, ceiling reaching shelves, looking for a good spellbook. These were only the recent volumes though. The really old ones burned along with other flammable artifacts in the old castle fire. David claimed it was for the better anyway. Newer statement spells were better than the old complicated rituals, apparently.

Simon didn’t care. He just needed a goddamn locating spell.

He pulled a gold volume off the shelf and flipped through the pages. “Construction spells,” he whispered to himself. The scarlet volume next. “Medicinal herbs.” A green one with silver accents. “Fucking battle magic!”

“What are you doing, Simon?”

Simon jumped a few feet in the air. David was frowning only a few steps away. How did people keep sneaking up on him? Lack of sleep must be much more damaging than realised.

“Uh, hello...Father,” he said. “How are you?”

He crossed his arm over his broad chest. “Fine. Now tell me, what are you doing in here?”

Simon’s frantic brain scrambled for an excuse. It was bad enough he was in the library, where David usually didn’t want him. But he certainly didn’t want David to know about Baz. It would make him worry and yell. Simon didn’t want either of those.

“Um,” he drew out, “I think I’m weak on location spells, which are useful in battle when you lose a general right? But I can’t find a spellbook.”

David, thank God, didn’t get angry. He merely sighed and shook his head. “You’re in the wrong section for location spells. They’re two shelves over.”

Simon rubbed his neck. “Oh, sorry.”

The king turned on his heels. Simon scurried behind him with hands in his pockets. They turned a couple of shelves down and walked about six feet in. David plucked a medium sized black leather book off the shelf. He handed it to Simon.

“Here,” he said. “This has some very good location spells. Many varieties for you to practice.”

Simon took the book, hugging it to his chest. “Thank you.”

David nodded. Cautiously, obviously unsure, he placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder. The prince jolted slightly. Out of all the people Simon knew, David was the least willing to show any sort of physical affection. It was surprising to say the least.

“I’m glad you’re taking initiative, Simon. Commanding an army is an extremely important duty of a king. You’re doing well.”

Simon’s eyes went wide. He liked to impress David. Half his life was spent impressing David, But this felt wrong. He gulped down the nervous, guilty lump in his throat. “T-Thank you, Father.”

He patted one more time, nodded his crown graced head, and walked off. Simon let out a shaky sigh. He hated lying. But it was necessary right now. David wouldn’t understand about Baz. He’d think it was stupid and reckless. He wouldn’t see the quest part, just the irresponsibility. Simon would tell him, when this all made more sense and everything calmed down.

First of all, he had a lake to find.

* * *

 

He stood on the edge of the forest, night air humid and muggy because of Watford’s southern climate. His sword and dagger were at his side, wand in hand. It felt strange to switch his tools. Simon’s wand, a beautiful piece of bone from some unknown animal, was a gift the day he was adopted. It had been an instrument of great frustration and destruction ever since.

Simon whispered the spell under his breath with no magic. It was a location spell that used a mental image as a catalyst. Simon just hoped his mental image wasn’t too degraded for the spell. He held up his wand, pointing it towards the Forbidden Lands, closed his eyes, and conjured Baz’s fuzzy face in his brain.

**_“Find for me what rests in my mind’s eye,”_ **he shouted into the dark expanse.

His hand started shaking and shaimmering with his magic. But it didn’t move into his wand, where it was meant for the spell. Simon groaned.

“C’mon,” he grumbled. “C’mon, work. Please for once, work.” He groaned and threw his head back. **_“Work!”_ **

And the magic rushed through his arm and into the wand. It heated up like it was in an inferno. Simon suddenly lurched forward with far more force than a location spell should have.

“What the-” His feet lifted from the ground, and he flew forward. “Shit!”

Simon hurtled through the air like a high speed bird. The whole world became a dark blur as his wand dragged him wherever it wanted him to go. He swung around trunks and through trees, branches smacking him over and over. He put his free arm up in a feeble attempt to protect his face. The wind whistled in his ears, leaves tangled in his hair, but his wand kept pulling him like the world’s fastest flying horse. He couldn’t let go but he couldn’t see either. There was a sudden dive down, and Simon crashed to a stop into a shallow pool of water.

“Ow,” he whined.

“What the everloving fuck?!”

Simon lifted his aching head. There was Baz, with his same sharp cheekbones and grey eyes and uneven black hair, just like Simon remembered. And he was scrambling back from Simon with a look of utter shock and horror.

“Hi again,” Simon said.

Baz blinks at him, jaw hanging open. “Holy shit, it’s you. Weird klutzy idiot.”

“Uh, well, it’s actually still just Simon. But yeah, it’s me.” Simon blinked the water and mud from his vision. His eyes focused better, and widened when he saw Baz’s torso. His bare, tan, muscular torso. “You’re...not wearing a shirt.”

It was hard to tell with his complexion, but Baz’s cheeks may have flushed slightly. He used his large book to cover himself as best he could. “It’s hot,” he snapped. “And I was just recently _alone._ You’re one to talk, you’re wearing half the forest.”

Simon ran a hand through his hair, shaking out all the twigs and leaves that got caught in his already wild curls. “Oh, yeah. Price of getting here.” He sat up on his knees, sublty slipping his wand in his trousers, entire front soaked and covered with mud, big smile on his face. “But I’m here. Hi.”

“Why are you here?” Baz asked with more horror than Simon would’ve liked.

Simon shrugged. “I, um, wanted to see you again.”

Baz’s thick brows furrowed. “You just...wanted to see me?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That really cannot be it.”

Simon shrugged, wet shirt riding up and clinging to his stomach. “I don’t know. We just, we didn’t get to talk a lot last time. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. So, yeah, I wanted to come back, to see you.”

Baz blinked at him, grey eyes wide in utter disbelief. Both stayed frozen for awhile. “I honestly can’t tell,” he said slowly, “if you’re incredibly smart or incredibly stupid.”

He shrugged again. “Probably the second one, honestly.”

Baz sighed. He stood up, book still pressed to his chest, and turned around. Simon gazed at his muscular back for a moment before dropping his head in shame. Baz footsteps waned away, then paused. Simon let himself look up slightly just in time to see Baz throw on a long cotton tunic. He turned around with both hands on his bony hips. Simon scrambled to his feet and took a couple cautious steps forward. The boys stared at each other once more.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” Baz said, voice flat and emotionless.

Simon’s heart sank. He looked at the ground, feet shuffling in the dirt, fingers fiddling with the wet hem of his shirt. “Oh, okay. Do you want me to go?”

The other boy didn’t respond at first. But Simon was too worried to raise his head. “You can’t be here,” Baz sighed. “You’re not supposed to.”

That made Simon tense up. A tiny spark of hope ignited in him. He raised his eyes up slightly. Baz was obviously trying to look nonchalant, bored with this entire affair. But Simon saw that his thin lips were tense

“B-But, do _you_ want me to go? It’s what you want? Yourself?” Simon asked quietly.

Baz seemed a bit shocked by the question. He leaned back slightly, like he’d been jostled. Simon recognised that reaction. He’d been the same when Cook Pritchard asked him if he wanted another serving, and when Simon said he wasn’t supposed to, she told him he could have more if he desired, _“supposed to be damned.”_ It was the first time anyone cared what he wanted. Simon had a sneaking suspicion Baz was the same.

“That’s not what’s important,” Baz whispered. “No one is supposed to see me. I’m meant to be alone.”

Simon frowned. “But, do _you_ want to be alone?”

Baz’s gaze narrowed, becoming grey slits. “Do you think if you keep repeating the same thing you’ll get a different answer?”

He shrugged for a third time. Baz rolled his eyes, sort of like how Penny did sometimes. Simon crossed his arm over his broad chest. “Are you eventually going to give me a real answer? Cause you’re not, you’re avoiding the question.”

Baz was slightly taken aback at Simon’s bluntness. Simon didn’t like this David style of non-answers and dodging. He wanted to know if this was all pointless. If Baz truly wanted his isolation, or if Simon could keep going on this adventure with him.

“I see,” Baz said smoothly. “So, if I ask you to leave, because _I_ want you to, you’ll go?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Whatever you want, I’ll do. So do you want me to?”

Baz’s thin lips shifted back and forth. His long fingers tapped against his thigh rhythmically. Simon was so worried. He was ready to turn around and attempt to fly out, fueled on nervous energy alone. He wanted to stay, but not if Baz didn’t want him.

“Could you help me with something?” Baz asked. His expression was still calm, but Simon was excitedly on edge.

“Y-Yeah,” Simon said. “What is it?”

Baz lifted a long piece of his pretty black hair. “This looks atrocious. I’ve tried using sharpened sticks and failed miserably. But you’ve got that knife. Suppose you could fix it?” Simon chuckled. He couldn’t help it. Baz didn’t look amused, crossing his arms and scowling. “Fine, be like that. If you’re not going to be useful, leave.”

“Sorry, sorry, no,” Simon said over his giggles. “It’s fine, I’ll do it. I just, I didn’t expect a guy living in a cottage by a lake in the middle of nowhere to be so worried about his hair. It’s just, unexpected.”

Baz rolled his eyes, but the smallest smirk pulled at his mouth. It made Simon feel strangely relieved. “I like to look nice even when I’m on my own, sue me. Can you do it?”

Simon nodded vigorously. “Yeah, sure. I used to cut other kid’s hair, I’m pretty good.”

“Why did you cut other kid’s hair?”

Simon rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure how much of his past he wanted to disclose just yet, or how much Baz would want to hear. “Uh, they asked, like you. Who was I to refuse?”

Baz let out a scoffing chuckle. “How charitable. Well, if you have so much experience, I expect you not to completely destroy my hair, right?”

Simon hoped he didn’t look to nervous. He hoped not to fuck up Baz’s hair, but still, it had been awhile. “Don’t worry,” he said with only a minor tremor. “I’ll make you pretty and shit.”

“Big promises.” Baz scooped up his book and strolled past Simon. He sat next to the lake, cross legged with the tome once again spread out on his lap. Simon stood frozen in place. He had to admit he was a bit transfixed by Baz’s smooth movements. The swish of his hips, the wasy way he flipped his hair. Baz turned his head slightly, a sliver of playful deep sea grey showing. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Simon jolted, suddenly coming back to life. “R-Right.”

He scrambled forward, unsheathing his dagger as he went. Baz stayed still, calmly reading his enormous book. With shaky hands, Simon reached forward, fingers brushing just under Baz’s hair. It was soft, a lot softer than he expected. Last time he saw Baz, it was all very tangled. But maybe that was because it was just unkempt at the time, and in reality it was soft. Like a silk pillowcase.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Baz asked calmly, turning his page with a snap.

“No,” Simon muttered. “Gimme a second.” He went to his knees, a few respectful feet behind Baz’s back. But his heart was still beating like a rabbit’s even at this distance. He started on the left, with a long piece that went past his shoulders. He held it up to judge it’s length.

“Um, how long do you want it to be?” he asked

Baz still didn’t look up from his book. “I don’t care. Just even it out.”

“O-oh, okay.”

The shortest part of Baz’s hair just reached the bottom of his neck. That was a good length to start at, he guessed. Separating out a thin segment with a pincer grip at the bottom, he sliced a small section off. The black strands floated down onto the green grass. Simon let out a small sigh of relief. It had been awhile since he cut the other little kids’ hair at the orphanage. And he used scissors, not a dagger. He wasn’t going to tell Baz though. This was one shot to be near him, and he wasn’t going to end it prematurely.

Simon moved slowly around his hair, taking small piece by small piece. His hands stopped shaking after a bit. Though the tension was thicker than ice. Simon was still scared to get anywhere near Baz’s skin, for fear of making the other boy pull away. Baz was stiff and straight like a statue. He didn’t even look up from his book. Simon tried to read it over his shoulder, but the text was so small, and the book was far away. He sort of wanted to ask, to maybe break the tension. But Baz got mad at his questions last time. Best to proceed with caution.

“So, uh,” Simon said. “Can I ask you something?”

“No,” Baz replied immediately, shoulders tensing.

Simon deflated. “Oh, sorry. But, why not? I’m just confused.”

“Because,” he punctuated with a page snap. “Cutting my hair doesn’t mean you’re privy to private information about me.”

He frowned, even more confused than before. “Uh, I was just gonna ask what your book was about.”

Baz jolted, nearly making Simon cut out a sizable chunk of his hair. He turned his head, showing his graceful profile and suspicious grey eye. “That’s all?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

Simon shrugged. “I just, wanted to be sure I could ask question. You got pissed last time I asked stuff.”

Baz’s mouth tightened for a moment. “Because last time you asked about my...condition.”

It clicked into place quickly. Simon felt stupid for not seeing the connection. He thought Baz was just closed off and private. This made more sense. “Oh, right, yeah. Sorry. Uh, can I ask you stuff not about, that?” He did want to ask about ‘that’, of course, but there was no point if Baz wasn’t going to answer.

Baz turned back to his book so Simon couldn’t see his expression. “I’ll decide if I want to answer.”

That made a lot of tension fall away from Simon’s being. It was a door only slightly ajar, but a door nonetheless. He’d take whatever taste of mysterious adventure he could get.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “So, what’s your book about?”

“The nature of existence. How all creation may have come into being, why it happened, and the points of our lives and the order created by society.” Baz made a show of licking his long finger and flipping to the next page. “It’s an engaging read.”

Simon paused his hair styling. His brain needed a few extra seconds to catch up. “Huh, wow. That’s...a lot.”

“I like ‘a lot.’”

“I can see that. You always read heavy books? Is that what you like? Or do you think it makes you smarter?”

Baz scoffed. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Simon shrugged as he deftly sliced off another piece of raven hair. “I’m just curious.”

“I can see that. Feels unfair though.”

“Huh?”

“You’re asking all these questions of me. Shouldn’t I be able to ask you questions?”

Simon’s hair cutting faltered slightly. “I-I guess. If you want. I don’t think I’m very interesting.”

He couldn’t see his face, but Simon swore he could hear Baz’s smirk. “I doubt that.”

Simon once more faltered in his hair cutting. It would be a miracle if Baz’s hair didn’t end up even more of a mess than it already was. He cleared his throat and continued his work.

“Anything you wanna know?” Simon asked weakly.

Baz shifted his shoulders, the ghost of a shrug. Not unsure as much as contemplative. “Well, since you’re asking me about my book, what sort of books do you read?”

Simon actually shrugged. He’d been told he shrugged too much. “I don’t really read a lot of books.”

Baz sucked in a breath and turned his head. Simon really wanted him to stop doing that. “You don’t read?! Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I just don’t read a lot.”

He shook his unequal black hair. “There’s something wrong with you.”

Simon chuckled. “Uh, yeah, definitely, but not because I don’t read a lot.”

“Well, do you read anything at all?”

“Some. I like fairy tales a lot. Y’know, tales of grand heroes and evil wizards and rescuing princesses from towers. That sort of thing.”

Baz’s face pinched together, both confused and slightly disgusted. “Isn’t that kid’s stuff?”

Simon shrugged again. “Kid’s stuff can still be good stuff.

“I suppose,” Baz grumbled. “I just don’t see the point in reading about things that never happened.”

“Cause it’s fun to imagine. Don’t you want to imagine being somewhere exciting and fun?”

Baz’s face went blank. It could only be described as emotionless and bored. Everything about him became closed off. He turned back to his book.

“Everyday,” he said under his breath, quiet enough that Simon knew he wasn’t supposed to hear.

Simon’s stomach sank. He felt like an idiot once again. He often wondered if he ever wouldn’t. It definitely wouldn't be anytime soon. “C-Can I ask you something now?” Simon asked.

“Sure,” Baz muttered.

“Um...” Simon chewed at his lip, trying not to fiddle with his knife so close to Baz’s hair. He decided to go with something simple. “What’s your favourite colour?”

Baz quietly chuckled, and Simon instantly felt relieved. “Going back to basics, I see?”

Simon shrugged for the third time. Maybe he did need to ration that motion. “It’s nice to know.”

“Very well,” Baz sighed. “I like green. And pink occasionally.”

“Hm, you’d look good in pink and green.”

Baz’s shoulders jolted with a small laugh. “Why thank you. Unfortunately all I have is brown.”

“I could bring you some colourful stuff.”

He waved dismissively. “It’s fine, I’ll live. My turn. Favourite animal?”

“Hmmm.” Simon twirled his knife in thought. He pointed it out when the idea popped into his brain. “Dragons, definitely dragons.”

Baz made a weird sort of scoffing noise. “Dragons aren’t real!”

“Yeah, but they’re still an animal. And they’re my favourite.”

“Very well,” he sighed. “I’ll take it. Your turn.”

Simon rummaged in his brain while also trying to fix Baz’s split end. “Um, favourite season?”

“Autumn. Preferred time of day?”

“Uh, daytime I guess, when it’s nice and sunny. Coolest thing you’ve seen in the woods?”

“Ivy so strong it crushed a centuries old tree. Worst story you ever read?”

“Some sad shit about a guy loving a girl who was married. Boring as fuck. He should’ve just moved on. Grossest food you’ve ever ate?”

“Worms. Nearly sicked up first time I ate one. Favourite music?”

“Old folk songs with fiddles. They’re fun to dance to.” Simon pulled back. “Oh. I’m done.”

Baz turned his head slightly, showing a bit of his face. “Done?”

“Y-You’re hair. I’m done.”

Baz nodded in acknowledgment. “I see. Shall I judge your work now?”

Simon nervously fiddled with his shirt hem, his knife, anything he could. “S-Sure.”

Baz snapped his book shut and leaned over the pond. Simon bent around to see better, catching the reflection in the water. His hair was still quite long for a bloke. But at least it was mostly even, the majority at the middle of his neck. A few stray strands chunks fell in front of his face in a lazy wave. Simon sort of liked that.

“Hm,” Baz exclaimed uhelpfully.

“Do you like it?” Simon’s voice was weak and nervous.

“Well, it’s better than before, I’ll say that.” Simon tried to not be disappointed by the lukewarm review. This wasn’t about him. It was about Baz, who looked slightly happier, the tiniest smile playing on his thin mouth. That was what mattered.

“Okay,” Simon said. “Glad it’s better.”

Baz nodded once. He reached into the pond and scooped some water. Miniature waterfalls fell between his long fingers. But he used what remained to slick back the stray parts of his hair. The style revealed a stark widow’s peak Simon had never noticed. Simon thought it looked a bit silly, but good. Baz somehow always looked good.

“There,” Baz said triumphantly. “Now I can see.”

Simon giggled. “Yeah, guess that’s sorta important.” He shifted his knees, looking at the lush green ground so he didn’t have to look at Baz. “Should...should I go now?”

There was no answer for awhile. Simon looked at his shuffling boots, focusing on the cracks and crevices rather than that storm in his gut. He wanted to stay, to learn more about Baz, to not have to go home, to continue his quest. But only if Baz let him.

“It’s my turn to ask a question, right?” Baz said, voice even and sure.

Simon’s head snapped up. The other boy kneeled in a completely neutral pose. Hands in his on his thighs, shoulders back, face flat and normal. Not exactly open but not guarded either. It was a small step, but a step all the same.

“Y-Yeah,” Simon replied. “It’s your turn.”

“Alright. Let me think of something.”

Simon sat cross legged a respectful distance away. Baz sat facing him, hands in lap. Simon stifled the grin that threatened to split his face apart. He didn’t want to seem overly eager. But he was. His life was finally exciting, something other than broken magic and duty. And he was far too excited.

* * *

 

_He was walking down a hallway. It was made of stone with very high ceilings. But the boy Simon saw through was very short. Maybe it was normal height and he was just small. The walls were covered in large portraits and red tapestries. But Simon couldn’t make out their details. He simply knew their shapes were present. The boy was uninterested in them, because he was a child. And he had somewhere to go. Simon wasn’t sure where. But in his mind, or maybe it was the boy’s mind, he heard, “Where’s Mum?” So he was looking for his mother. It was a foreign thought for Simon, another confirmation he was not himself._

_The boy kept walking down the hallway. It seemed to stretch forever. Simon didn’t know if it was because he was small or because it was a dream. But he kept walking, looking at the banners and portraits as they stretched into infinity. He walked and walked and walk-_

_Was that smoke?_

_Simon turned around with the boy, just in time to see his previous path explode into flames. It rushed towards him. He screamed as he was thrown off his feet and engulfed by the inferno._

* * *

 

Simon bolted up in bed with a gasp. His chest felt tight, skin prickly and muscles aching. When he exhaled, grey smoke came out as of his mouth. His heart immediately seized, remembering his last night in the orphanage all too well, and what happened to him after. Simon looked down at his shaking hands. They clutched the sheet in a death grip. The fabric was singed, slightly blackened and still smoking. Simon ripped his hands away, still glowing a bit in the dim light of early day.

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, just like Penelope taught him. In, one two three, out, one two three, over and over in a steady rhythm. Soon his chest stopped hurting, his hands stopped shaking and glowing, and everything was alright. He wasn’t about to blow everything up. Simon opened his eyes once more.

Soft morning sunlight bled in through Simon’s open window. Dawn was approaching. He had tried to get some sleep after returning from Baz’s far too late. But he knew from his aching eyes that he’d barely slept a few hours. He still had to go to lessons though. Simon groaned and threw himself back on the bed. He didn’t understand how he could be so elated yet feel so shitty. What a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "you're not wearing a shirt" is the closest we'll get to "you're wearing jeans!" in this fic haha. Hope you guys liked it. See you next Monday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon get to know each other more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter but I still hope you all like it!

“Your highness? Sir? Prince Simon? Simon!”

Simon jolted fully awake, fire still burning in his mind. Three different pieces of parchment were stuck to his face, which he quickly peeled off. He had to blink the blurriness from his eyes. The swirling colours slowly came into focus, twisting and turning until they converged into the concerned face of Miss Possibelf. Simon smiled weakly.

“Good day, Miss,” he said.

Miss Possibelf straightened up, both hands on her cane. “Forgive my impertinence, your highness. I didn’t mean to disturb you, I was only worried for your health.”

Simon heart hurt a bit. Miss Possibelf had woken him up many times when he passed out in her class. It should be normal. But now he was officially a full time prince, not her student. Why did being a prince mean everyone had to take three steps away from him? “It’s really fine, Miss, don’t worry. How are you?”

Her lip quirked up imperceptibly. She didn’t smile much, being a serious older woman, but she smiled at Simon. She once said Simon was the only student who ever asked her about her day.

“I am well, your highness, I’m humbled by you asking.” _You shouldn’t be humbled, or even grateful. This should be normal,_ Simon thought. “Just looking for some new teaching materials in the royal library.” She tilted her head. “Excuse my impertinence once more, your highness, but are _you_ alright? You seem very...worn.”

Simon turned to full length mirror behind him. Why a library needed a mirror was beyond him. Maybe David liked admiring at himself while he worked. Simon certainly didn’t like it. He was an utter mess. Matted hair, dark eye circles, a general ghostly appearance. David thought training was getting to him. Simon knew it was actually because he had spent every night for over a week in a mysterious lake, talking to a mysterious boy. But no one could know that. Baz had made that very clear. And Simon certainly wanted to listen to him. On top of Baz adventures, there were the nightmares...

“Just trying to keep up on all my princely duties,” Simon said with his biggest smile. He had gotten good at pretending he was better than he was. And honestly, what else could he tell her? Simon hadn’t told anyone about Baz, or his nightmares, not even Penelope. It was all...too much.

Miss Possibelf frowned slightly. She really was concerned. “If you say so. I wish you good health, your highness.”

Simon kept smiling. “You too, Miss.”

She gave one more nod before disappearing into the shelves. Simon looked down at his work, if he could even call it that. It was mostly scribbles and smudges. He was supposed to be taking notes on Watford military policy, in preparation for any supposedly oncoming war, but all words turned to soup in his tired eyes. Simon thought he was bad before when he was just looking for Baz. Now that he had found the mysterious swan boy again, his life now completely revolved around him like the sun circling the Earth. He savoured every minute he spent with Baz, and when he wasn’t there, Simon just thought about going back. He thought about Baz, with his clever tongue and deep grey eyes and strange life. What was the word for that?

Obsession. Fuck, Simon might be obsessed. Obsessed with Baz and his mysterious existence. But he was also excited, elated, looking forward to something for the first time since Mage’s School. That more than made up for his exhaustion.

During his mental storm, Simon had been sketching on his notes page. The black smudges formed the vague outline of a bird. A swan to be specific. With charcoal wings reaching up towards the heavens. Simon hadn’t seen Baz’s bird form again for awhile, but he’d never forget. He wanted to remember everything about Baz.

* * *

 

“Uh, favourite flower?”

Baz scoffed, smirking from under thin strands of raven hair. “Really?” he drawled. “Is that all you can think of?”

Simon shrugged up high then let his shoulders slump back down. “I don’t know. You must see some cool flowers in the forest. You have to have a cool favourite.”

“I suppose,” Baz sighed, looking out at his lake. “Well, there’s some purple flowers deep in the woods. They glow beautifully at night.”

The other boy’s head snapped up. “Oh I saw those! My friend picked a few first time I was here. She called them uh...” He rattled his brain for the past knowledge. Strange names of flowers weren’t something he tried to remember. “Um...hyminthus candelis?”

Baz raised one eyebrow impossibly high. “You mean hyacinthus candentius?”

Simon snapped his fingers and pointed at Baz’s face. “That’s it!”

Baz pushed the digit away with his index finger with a resoundly unimpressed expression. “Yes, and your attempt at latin terrifies me.”

“How are you more posh than me when you live in a lake?” he grumbled under his breath, using a stick to trace patterns in the soft mud.

“What?” Baz’s eyes flicked over to him, slightly suspicious.

“Nothing.” Simon twirled the stick in his hand, then hurled it out into the lake. It nearly hit a white swan, making the bird honk and flap its wings. Simon winced. “Sorry!” he called out.

Baz chuckled. Just a slight sound of amusement under his breath. “He can’t understand you, you know.”

Simon shrugged. “Yeah, but still, I nearly hit him. That’s mean.”

“He’ll forget it tomorrow. They don’t exactly have long memories.”

An idea struck the prince’s head like a lightning bolt. “Wait,” Simon exclaimed with excitement, “can you talk to them? As a swan?”

He glared with his piercing grey eyes. “I’m not answering that.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” Baz grumbled. He crossed his long arms over his chest. Simon flushed with embarrassment. He looked at the muddy ground, digging his boot heel in with a slight squish.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Uh, it’s your turn, I guess.”

Baz made a contemplative noise. He leaned back on his arms and stretched out his lanky legs, bare feet touching the muddy edge of the lake. Baz was always barefoot. Simon wondered if he actually owned shoes or just chose not to wear them. Living in a hidden lake probably didn’t require shoes. Still, a person should have shoes.

“What’s your favourite activity?” Baz asked. “Besides bothering me.”

Simon scoffed and poked Baz’s big toe with another stick he’d found. “Fuck off, arsehole.” Baz bumped the stick away, a small smirk on his mouth. “And I don’t know. I don’t do a lot of stuff. Eating? Sword fighting?”

“Is that why you carry this silly thing around? For fun?” Baz poked at the sword strapped around Simon’s back.

“Nah, that’s for protection. In case I find something strange and dangerous in the woods.”

Baz scoffed, running a hand over his loose hair. “Pretty sure the only strange thing you’ll find in these woods is me, Simon. And I don’t think I’m dangerous.”

Simon had to agree. Baz was cold and sarcastic, not dangerous. “True. Still, I like to keep it around. Just in case.”

“Hm.” He traced his index finger up and down the brown leather hilt. “May I see it?”

Simon immediately stiffened. Instinctively, he wanted to say no. His sword was probably his most precious possession. It had been given to him along with his wand when he was 11, the day he was officially made Heir of Watford, and he’d kept it close ever since. Sword work was one of the few things he was good at. Of course he wanted to keep his greatest tool close to his chest. But he also wanted Baz to trust him. So Baz would let him keep coming, so he would possibly tell him more about his strange situation somdeday, so he would just keep talking to Simon period.

“Sure,” Simon said cautiously. “Just, be careful, it’s sharp and-” Baz unsheathed the sword in one smooth move and stood up. He held the blade high in the air with a single arm, steel glinting in the magical lights. Simon’s eyes went impossibly wide.

“Heavy...” he said under his breath. His chest suddenly felt very tight for some reason.

Baz lowered the flat on the blade onto his opposite hand, examining it with careful eyes. He traced along every knick, which there were many of, because it was Simon’s sword. He swung it back in forth and tossed it between his hands with complete ease. Simon’s jaw slowly fell down. It had taken Simon years to do that. Mind you, he was eleven when he first started training, but still, it was...very impressive.

“Hm,” Baz said calmly. “Arming sword, solid steel, good leather, at least a century old but well maintained. I’ve read about these sort of weapons in books but I’ve never seen one in person. Interesting.”

“Y-You’re really strong.” Simon was still in quite a bit of shock.

Baz smirked from behind his light curtain of hair, grey eye glinting almost mischievously “You’d be surprised the amount of strength it takes to fly even a short distance.”

Simon opened his mouth, ready to ask more questions about flying and what it was like to be a swan and anything else he could. But, he thought of when Baz shut him down, tonight and every other night. He didn’t want that again. Maybe it would better to just listen, not ask.

“Cool,” Simon chuckled. “Guess it can have other uses.”

Baz’s smirk became closer to a real smile for a split second, but it was fleeting, like a puff of wind on a hot summer day. His face went blank again. “So can you actually fight with this thing? Or is it just for show to scare off the big bad monsters?”

Simon scoffed, glaring up at the other boy. “I can use it. Could you?”

“Maybe.” He swung it lazily back and forth. “I’ve read quite a bit about sword fighting techniques. I could most likely copy them.”

“Reading is way different than doing, Baz.”

“Hm, true.” He swiftly flipped the sword around, offering the handle to Simon. “Show me.”

Simon’s eyes bulged out. His heart was hammering against his rib cage. “What?!”

“You say you know how to use it, so show me.”

“D-Do you want me to attack you?!” Baz was magical, but that didn’t mean he was invulnerable.

Baz dramatically rolled his eyes. “No, you dolt. Attack the air. My death wish isn’t that extreme.”

The way Baz said that made Simon’s gut twist. It fell so easily from his mouth, too easily. Did Baz really not value his life? That didn’t sit well with Simon. Not at all.

He took the sword from Baz. It was a comforting weight in Simon’s hand. A familiar form of power, since it was the one Simon tended to go for instead of magic. He stepped far away from Baz, who stood with his arms crossed and a critical eye, and took the standard fighting stance. Legs apart, knees slightly bent, one arm behind his back since he didn’t have a shield. And he attacked.

Simon slashed, cut, and stabbed the empty air. His feet moved across the soft grass like lightning, kicking up clumps of Earth into the air. The steel glinted and shined with every phantom strike. He tried to imagine an opponent to fight, someone he could justify all this damage to. A training dummy? A foreign knight? Baz’s mysterious cloaked imprisoner? In the darkest part of his mind, the one he tried to keep quiet, Simon almost saw the silhouette of King David in front of him. But he quickly shoved that thought away. He couldn’t think of him like that. Simon needed David as much as David needed him.

Over the course of his little exhibition match with nothingness, Simon had shuffled forward almost to Baz’s cottage. He stopped before cutting in a sizable chunk out of the wall. This was Baz’s home, Simon couldn’t damage it. So he stopped, his tired arm falling to his side, breathing heavy. When he looked at Baz, a tiny part of him hoped for a grin. Sadly, Baz’s face was still very blank. However, the usually pouty corners of his lips were pulled up slightly. In their days together, Simon realised that was about as genuine as Baz’s smiles got.

“Hm,” Baz said, like the amateur scholar he acted as, “colour me impressed. You do know how to use it, at least against the open air. Not sure how you’d do against a real opponent.”

Simon shrugged, idly swinging his blade before sticking it in his sheath. “Well, I’ve been told I’m okay. Guess you can’t see me duel.”

Baz’s mini smile turned into his smug smirk. He spun on his heels and walked towards a tree. When he returned, he held two long sticks, and promptly threw one at the other boy. Simon scrambled to catch it. When he looked up, Baz had his legs apart and stick pointed out, still smirking.

“En garde,” he said.

And he lunged forward. Simon barely parried the attack off. He stumbled away. Baz took the opening, jabbing at him again. He was technical, precise, like a snake waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He obviously had no mercy, so Simon wouldn’t show any either then. He went into his fighting stance and parried away Baz’s attack, then he pushed forward, forcing Baz to give a lot of ground. Simon could see his expression shift. A slight turning down of his thin lips, a flickering of fire in his grey eyes. He tried to lunge forward with a jab at Simon’s side, but Simon was an experienced swordsman. He’d duled King David once and almost actually won. He knew how to sidestep the targeted attack, then swung his stick back around with all his might. He almost hit Baz, and Baz just barely blocked it, but still stumbled from the considerable force of Simon’s attack. Baz’s position was obviously unsteady. He was so focused on getting the most precise attacks that he’d disregarded his own stance. Simon took advantage. He pushed forward, then used his shoulder to knock into Baz with all strength. The other boy fell flat on the grass with a wheeze. Simon pointed his stick right above his slightly crooked nose. He couldn’t help but grin, the adrenaline of victory coursing through his veins.

“Do you surrender?” He said mockingly.

Baz glared up, his eyes grey slits of contempt. “I suppose I must.” He lifted up his hand. “At least help me up.”

Simon instantly took it, rough skin scratching against his. He hoisted Baz to his feet, and the other boy wobbled a bit. Simon grabbed his forearm to steady him. He could hear Baz inhale sharply. He immediately stepped away, putting a respectable distance between the two of them. Baz dusted off his already dirty trousers.

“Well,” he sighed, “I suppose you’re right. Reading is far different than doing.”

“Yeah,” Simon chuckled. “But you’ve got the right ideas. You could be really good.”

Baz’s brow quirked up. Simon thought he must practiced doing that looking in the pond. “Oh? Is that so?”

Simon slowly nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“In that case, think you could teach me?”

He nodded without hesitation. It was another excuse to come back. Another excuse to see Baz. Why wouldn’t he take it? “Yeah, sure, if you want.”

Baz picked up his stick once more. “Then let’s try again. This time, tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

Simon copied him. He gave the stick a dramatic spin of his wrist. “As you wish.”

* * *

 

And so another thing was added to their routine. Simon would stumble into the hole, Baz would be by his lake, and they would say hello. Then they’d immediately pick up their sticks and duel, with Simon correcting Baz’s few mistakes. Eventually they would end up by the lake again, asking their questions. Over and over, nights and nights, and Simon felt somehow closer and further away from Baz all at once. Any question he asked was deflected. What little information Baz offered was surface and bare. Nothing of his past, who he was, why he turned into a swan. I felt like their sparring. For every step Simon took forward, Baz took one back. And Baz never stepped towards him.

“Shift your feet,” Simon said. “Make sure your weight is evenly distributed.”

“Why?” Baz asked. He liked to ask “why?” a lot during sparring lessons. A single statement was never enough for Baz. He needed to know the reasoning, the logistics, the deeper mechanisms of it all. He reminded Simon of Penelope in that way. A true academic, never satisfied with simple knowledge, always searching for more.

“Because, it makes your movements easier, you’re less likely to fall or be knocked over, and...” Simon made show of dodging Baz’s jab by leaning back so far and bending his knees so much that his hair grazed the grass. He sprung back up with a wide grin, satisfied by Baz’s slightly open mouth. “You can do that.”

Baz nodded slowly. He was astounded, though he did his best to hide it. “I see. Can you teach me how to do that?”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe. I sorta taught myself, but I can try to show you.”

“Wonderful.” He successfully parried Simon’s attack. “I’m curious, where did you learn to fight like this?”

This was a more invasive question than Simon was used to from Baz. He hadn’t offered much of his past, in fear of Baz finding out about his reluctant royal status. Maybe he wasn’t the only one being cagey about their background. But...he still wasn’t going to tell Baz _everything_. “I, uh, learned at the Mage’s School. They teach you magic and sword fighting.”

Baz inhaled sharply. His body became very stuff. “You’re a mage?”

“Yeah, but a pretty bad one. I tend to blow stuff up. I’m better at sword fighting.” Simon’s heart seized, remembering what Baz’s main experiences with mages must be. “But I’m not like him!” he blurted out. “Not like...that guy, with the cloak. I-I’m not gonna...cut your hair off or something...” _Or turn you into a swan,_ he left unsaid. He still wasn’t even sure if the Cloaked Man was even the one responsible for Baz’s “condition”. But it didn’t matter. Simon wouldn’t do that. Not to Baz, not to anyone.

Baz made slight chuckling noise. “Don’t worry, Simon, I won’t suddenly hate you because you’re a mage. I don’t think you’re like him.”

Simon twisted his hand around the fake hilt of his fake sword. “Oh. So...what’s he like?”

“Is a one handed sword more effective or two handed?” Baz asked quickly. He looked pointedly at the lake. Simon wasn’t very good at social cues, but that was deflecting if he’d ever seen it. She shuffled his feet, kicking up grass. Simon had stepped forward, and Baz had stepped back again. No matter how close he walked Baz pulled away.

But maybe Simon had to stop stepping forward. Like his annoying diplomacy textbooks said, _“it is better to offer the hand of peace than push someone to war.”_

So Simon offered his hand.

“Y’know,” he said, mindlessly stepping around the grass. “I knew this guy back at the orphanage I grew up in.” Baz’s head snapped up, looking truly, genuinely confused. “He always pushed me around. He told me what I should wear, should eat, should do, even when I was allowed in our room. I tried to tell our Matron about him but she never listened. She never listened to me about anything. No one did. So I, uh, learned it was better to keep my mouth shut, and I just did what he said so he’d stop hurting me.” Simon chuckled sardonically. “It’s no wonder I’m bad at talking. Never got that much practice. I’m better now though. Especially after getting out of there and going to the Mage’s School. Things aren’t perfect but I guess it’s better. At least I’m not around that guy anymore.”

Simon gulped down the massive lump that had suddenly manifested in his throat. He swung the stick back and forth, slicing the air with a tiniest hisses. It was the only noise in the lake for a long while. Simon debated whether he should just climb out of the hidden lake to curl up and die of embarrassment in his bed. It would be safer, right?

“He’s like that too,” Baz said quietly. Simon’s head snapped up this time. Though the other boy’s face was mostly hidden by a curtain of black hair, Simon could see his mouth, already turned down at the corners naturally but now pulled even further into a frown. His face seemed to be made for pouting. “He always tells me what to do. You saw so, what with my hair and all. Usually he comes every few weeks to check on me, make sure I’m still here, give me books when I ask. I don’t know why he’s like this, or why he feels the need to control me all the time. I’m not even sure why he keeps me here. It’s not like a man in a cloak with no name is liberal with explanations of himself. Sometimes...” He took a deep breath. His closed eyes spelled calm. But everything else about him spelt tense. “I wish I could just be rid of him. But I know I can’t.”

“W-Why not?”

Baz’s lips went from a frown to a full on impressive scowl. “Because, if he’s gone, there will be no one who knows anything about my curse. He told me that. It’s not like he’ll reverse it, but it keeps me scared enough to not try anything.”

The ground felt wonky for a second. Slowly, Simon took a step closer. And for once, Baz didn’t step away. Though a small distance still remained. “You...you’re cursed? That’s why you...change?”

Simon expected another deflection, as precise as Baz’s impressive blocks during their duels. But Baz just nodded slowly. “Yes,” he muttered. “‘When the sun rises a swan, when it sets a human again’. That’s exactly what he said. It’s how I’ve been for years.

Simon’s jaw fell slightly open. Years, an undefined but obviously lengthy amount of time. As if he couldn’t feel any worse for Baz. “I’m...I’m sorry,” Simon whispered. “That’s awful.”

Baz turned to him, scowling with blazing eyes. “I don’t need your pity,” he spat, then stomped over to sit next to the lake, knees pulled up to his chin.

Simon’s stomach sank into the centre of the Earth. He cautiously walked towards the lake as well, sitting a good few feet away. “Sorry. N-Not like I was sorry before. Sorry I said something bad. I didn’t mean to pity you. It just...sucks. But I guess you already know that, what with...living with it...”

“Exactly,” he grumbled.

“Yeah...sorry I was an ass.”

Baz made an indistinct noise, but his legs stretched out slightly, a bit of tension leaving his muscles. “Apology tentatively accepted.”

Simon stretched out his legs too, leaning back on his arms. “So, you’re only human at night?” Baz nodded. “Then...maybe you could fly away as a swan and turn into a human somewhere else?”

Baz glared over his shoulder. That glare sent shivers down Simon’s spine. “Of course I’ve tried _that_ _._ I’m not an idiot. What the man didn’t tell me in his incredibly vague curse was that I’ll turn into a swan when the sun rises no matter where I am, but I only become human again when I’m sitting in this blasted lake at night.” He threw a small rock into the water, sending tiny ripples across the blue surface. As if one pebble would destroy the entire offending pond. “Stupidest prison ever,” he muttered.

_And tragically effective one,_ Simon thought. It was the worst kind of magic, created solely to hurt and torture someone. Simon couldn’t imagine living like that. Tasting freedom, just to have it ripped away when he could enjoy it. He almost said _“sorry”_ again, but held his tongue. He just nodded and said nothing. Baz’s face softened minutely, and he nodded back. it seemed Simon made the right choice.

“So,” Baz said flatly. “You grew up in an orphanage?” His tone was so neutral it was hard to tell what he meant when he asked.

Simon nodded. “Yeah. Got left there when I was a baby. No clue who my parents are. But I got adopted at eleven and I’m not sure I care who they were anymore.”

Baz scoffed, low and deep in his throat. “You shouldn’t. They gave you up. Fuck them.”

For some reason, that brought a smile to Simon’s face. There was something refreshing about someone saying outright what he’d always thought deep down. “Yeah, you’re right. Fuck them.”

Baz’s mouth quirked up. He threw another stone into the lake. It splashed and rippled “Your turn.”

“Hm?”

“Your turn, for a question.”

Oh. Sparring time was done, question time now. Simon was always excitedly nervous for his. His tongue sometimes felt too big for his mouth, even more useless than usual. And it certainly felt so right now. “Okay. Uh, favourite food?”

“Hm,” Baz traced curvy lines in the mud, “I like mint pies. The woman who used to take care of me, she made them sometimes. They were very good.”

So Baz had someone to take care of him. At least he used to. That was good. Everyone should have someone to take care of them. But it created more questions. “Mint pies are cool. How long did she take care of you?”

Baz shook his long, bony finger, still smirking a bit. “Ah, ah, it’s my turn.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. Now, why do you like sword fighting better than magic? I would think magic would be quite fun.”

Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s easier to hit things than remember words. I’m bad at words.”

“I think you’re alright.” Simon couldn’t help but smile. His body felt warm. “Not that I have a lot of company to compare you to.” Of course. Baz couldn’t compliment without an insult tacked on.

“True,” Simon chuckled. “But, y’know, I still am a mage, even if I’m bad.”

Baz turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Okay? So?”

“So, I think maybe I could...help you, with your curse. Find out about it. Maybe...even how to break it.”

Baz’s grey eyes went wide for a moment. They looked like full moons. But just as quickly, they got smaller, and his face became blank. He turned back towards the lake. His expression was entirely unreadable. It was like staring at a statue.

“Sure,” he said with zero inflection, “if you would like.”

Simon’s eyes went wide. He didn’t expect it to be that easy to get permission. “Really?”

“If you can find anything, good for you.” He didn’t sound too excited. He didn’t sound like anything. As if all the emotions were sucked right out of him. Simon didn’t like that. He preferred Baz’s smirk and teasing lily. Was it wrong that he liked one sort of Baz and not the other?

“O-Okay. I’ll tell you if I find anything, alright?”

“Fine.” He went to his feet again, swinging his stick into sword-mode as he walked away. “Let’s have one more round before you have to go.”

He said it so matter of factly that Simon couldn’t protest. He scrambled to follow. “Alright.”

They took their stances. Simon was the first to attack. He lunged forward, Baz blocked, and they repeated it again, and again, and again. Baz was still overly methodical, but he was learning. He learned fast.

Maybe when Simon broke his curse, they could duel on the palace training ground. Simon would like that. He’d like to show Baz one of his favourite places. He’d like for Baz to have his freedom.

* * *

 

Simon banged on the door twice, but very loudly. It would be enough for Penny to hear. He listened as the steps stomped closer and closer. The door flung open. Penny glared with tired eyes and serious bed head.

“What the fuck, Simon?” she asked, voice raspy and sleep tired. “Gods, have you slept?”

That was a fair question, because he hadn’t, and he probably looked it. Simon was sure he came off as positively mental, what with his dark eye circles, panting breath, and wide manic smile. He ran incredibly fast from Baz’s lake. His lungs were still burning. “Not important right now. Pen, I gotta ask you something.”

“It’s barely sunrise. What on Earth could you need to know this early?”

“Penny,” he said, trying to sound ominous and grand, “what do you know about curses?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know not too much happens here, but I feel like it's necessary to help build up their relationship and show Simon and Baz trusting each other more. Also I love writing the duels lol. Hope you enjoyed it! Next update comes Thursday, and I'll be posting a request fic tomorrow :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon learns about curses, and gets a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting so late. I had actual irl friends over lol. Hope you guys like this. It's short but has some necessary information.

“And if you get up on higher ground,” Simon yelled, “you’ve got an advantage over your opponent.”

Simon hopped on the small collection of rocks just in time to parry Baz’s thrust. Baz didn’t stumble back. He had gotten a lot better at holding his own and staying steady. Though a lot of his skill did still come in his precise eye. He still went for accurate moves rather than Simon’s strong but wild slashes and thrusts. It was like a roaring flame versus creeping ice. Simon’s former last name seemed very apt.

“I think you just like being taller for once,” Baz said.

Simon’s mouth dropped open in offended disbelief. “You’re not even a head taller than me!”

“That still makes you shorter.”

Simon growled and hit Baz’s stick hard. But Baz wasn’t knocked off balance. He held his ground. And Simon could see a glint in his eye. Something suddenly worked out in his big scholar brain. Before he knew it, Simon was being jabbed just under his rib, and all the wind flew right out of his lungs. He stumbled back on instinct, and soon there wasn’t anything under his feet. He landed on the ground with a painful thud, and his head hit with an even more painful crack. Simon groaned and rubbed his aching skull. When he opened his eyes, Baz was looming over him, stick pointing down, smirk playing on his mouth.

“My point,” he drawled with more than enough smugness. “Maybe the higher ground isn’t always an advantage.”

“Prick,” Simon grumbled. “At least help me up?”

Simon reached up, and Baz rolled his eyes, but took his hand anyway. He used all his considerable strength to haul Simon to his feet. Simon was still astounded by how strong Baz was. It made his heartbeat skip for a moment. Which was odd. That had never happened before.

“What’s the match count now?” Baz asked.

Simon shrugged. “Um, I think it’s twenty six for me and four for you.”

Baz’s eyes narrowed, frowning slightly. It was easy with the way his lips were shaped. Simon was pretty sure his face was made for pouting. “That can’t be right.”

“I’m the real sword fighter, remember?”

“With the coordination of a charging ox.”

Simon shrugged again. “Hate it all you want, but I’m still beating you.”

“I don’t like to lose,” Baz muttered, most probably to himself. Simon had certainly learned that. For someone who’d had limited company for probably years before Simon, he was insanely competitive. He wanted to be the best. Simon wondered if Baz competed with the other swans before he showed up.

Baz stuck his stick in the ground and stretched his arms to the sky. Simon’s eyes were drawn to the way his lithe back curved for a moment, but he quickly looked away. When Baz dropped his stick, Simon knew that meant sparring was over. He did the same, then followed Baz to the edge of the lake. Baz sat cross legged just as a swan came close. Baz ushered it closer. The bird came out of the water and laid itself in Baz’s lap without hesitation. He petted it’s feathers softly. Simon had only ever seen this sort of kindness in Baz when he was with a swan.

“You really like those birds, huh?” Simon said.

Baz gave one brief nod. “They’re very sweet, in reality. And...they’ve been good company all these years.”

Simon smiled slightly. It was good, that Baz had company. Curiosity overwhelmed him, as it tended to. He reached towards the swan cautiously, just hoping to pet it’s head. But it instantly stretched forward and honked at Simon, almost biting his finger. The sound was so strange and loud that Simon yelped in response. He fell onto his back, staring at the starry sky, instinctively clutching the hand that was almost de-fingered.

There was a strange noise. Tiny little sounds that Simon had never heard before in this lake. He looked up to see Baz hunched over, shoulders shaking, giggling. Fucking _giggling._ It was so strange, yet incredible. His grey eyes crinkled at the corners, thin mouth stretching so much bigger. He looked far less like the stern statue or smirking asshole Simon had come to know. He looked far more...human.

“Stop laughing at me,” Simon grumbled, pushing himself up to sitting once more.

“I wouldn’t be laughing if it wasn’t so funny,” he said while still sputtering slightly. “Did you never learn to not approach wild animals?”

Simon huffed. “If I knew that, I never would’ve found you.”

“Hm, true enough.” He went back to petting his bird. “She’s actually very sweet. She just has to get to know you.” He scratched under beak. The sound she made was probably the closest a swan could get to a purr. Baz smiled. “See? A complete darling.”

Simon couldn’t help but smile himself. It was far too sweet not to. Baz really was far more than what he’d first appeared to be. And Simon knew he deserved more than what he was stuck with.

“So, uh, Baz,” Simon said slowly, “I’ve been talking to my friend.”

“Good for you,” Baz replied, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Oh, fuck off. What I mean is that she’s a mage too, and she’s really smart. So I asked her and she told me stuff. About curses.”

Baz’s back went ramrod straight. He was so quick it almost spooked his avian companion, who flapped her wings and honked in protest. Baz calmed her down with petting again.

“I see,” he said quietly. “What did she say?”

* * *

 

“Curses?” Penny said, still blinking sleep from her eyes. “You want to know what I know about curses?”

Simon nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yes please.”

Penny gave him a disbelieving, annoyed look over her spectacles. “Seriously?”

“Yes!”

“But why?!”

Simon froze up. Shit. He hadn’t thought this far into the conversation. He stared at Penny for a ridiculously long time. Penny got more and more frustrated, her face pulling more and more together, like someone was pinching it together.

“Simon-”

“I’m curious,” Simon blurted out.

Penny’s gaze got even more critical. “You’re curious?”

“Yeah. W-We never learned about curses in school. I wanna know more, about them.”

“At the crack of dawn?”

“...yes.”

Penny eyed him up and down. Simon hoped his deception wasn’t showing. It wasn’t even really a deception really. More like, omitting some of the truth. He was curious, he did want to know more about them. But it was for a specific reason. For a specific person.

She shook her head, and gestured Simon inside. “Get your stupid arse in here.”

Simon scurried inside. Penny quietly closed the door behind him. They were opposite each other. Penny sat with her legs and arms crossed in the wooden chair. Simon sat on the sofa, knee bouncing up in down.

“So, curses,” Penny said, “what do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Simon blurted out. “I-I need to know everything.”

Penny groaned and rubbed her forehead. “Gods, Simon, you’re seriously going to be the death of me. Fine. Curses, here’s what I know.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Curses are one of the most ancient form of magic. They involve trapping someone somewhere or changing them to be however the caster desires. Usually, it was used as a form of punishment, vengeance, or to teach a person a lesson. Like cursing an arrogant prince to be ugly so he learns humility.”

Simon nodded along. “Okay, cool. They’re not used a lot anymore, right?”

“Yeah, no one curses anyone anymore. It’s stupid.”

“But why?”

“Because curses are _dumb._ They’re overly complicated to create, hard to cast, and really not that useful. Look at those fairy tales you love, Si. The curse is always broken and the caster gets punished. That’s accurate to the olden days. Curses were never effective. They were always broken eventually, because they had to be.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Penny sighed. “Curses are powerful magic, Si. Taking that much power for too long could cause serious damage to the magical atmosphere. There has to be a safety measure so that power can return. So no matter how much you hate a person and want them to suffer, a curse will always have a means of escape.”

“Really? Always?!” Simon’s heart was beating two fold. He was excited. There was hope. There was hope for Baz.

Penny nodded. “Yeah, always. Any case of someone trying to cast a permanent curse backfired on them horrifically. I guess it’s magic’s way of making sure we put in that safety measure.”

“Okay, okay. How do you break curses?”

“Ah, that I actually don’t know.”

Simon was very shocked. He wasn’t used to Penny not knowing something. It was rarer than a blue moon. “You don’t know?”

Penny made a funny face, twisting her lips and tapping her fingers. “Well, I know there’s some universal curse breaking stuff, like a generic reversal potion or true love’s kiss. But that’s basic shite. If the mage is clever, the way to break the curse will be specific. Like you’re forced to dance every night and someone has to match your steps for the curse to be broken. Shit like that.”

“Okay, got it.” Simon scratched his chin like some thoughtful scholar. “So, if I want to break a specific curse, how would I find out how to do that?”

Her eyes get very suspicious. “Simon, what is this really about?”

Simon didn’t want to lie to Penny. He hated the idea of lying to his best friend. But he also knew Baz was supposed to be hidden. It was already a huge risk for Simon to know about him. Another person knowing could be dangerous. Simon didn’t want to put Baz in more danger. If this all worked out, he’d apologize to Penny later and beg for her forgiveness.

“David is trying to help my magic development,” he said. “He gave me this hypothetical about someone who’s been cursed. It’s stupid so I didn’t want to talk about it before.”

Penny still didn’t look convinced. Simon gulped down the massive lump in his throat. His palms were definitely sweating. He wasn’t good at lying. Penny knew that. But Simon stayed resolute, because he wanted to protect Baz.

“Alright,” she sighed. “I get it, David likes to mess with you.”

Simon tried to hide his relief. He nodded rapidly. “Yeah, he’s trying to challenge me.”

“Sure, whatever. Anything else I can do to help you solve this?”

He twisted his mouth and drummed his fingers. He looked up at her with a kind smile. “Got any books I could borrow?”

* * *

 

 

“And she gave me these.” Simon took the large volumes out of his old, slowly falling apart rucksack. It was only a few of the books Penny had leant him from her family’s extensive library. They had stuff even the royal library didn’t have. If anything could help, Bunce family books would.

Baz took one of the books, running a hand over it. His expression was still blank and bored. He didn’t seem as interested as he should be. This could break his curse and set him free. Shouldn’t he be excited?

“I see,” he said. “You think the answer to my curse could be in one of these books?”

“Maybe.” Baz gave a skeptical look. Simon pulled in on himself. “I-I can’t be sure. Penny said there’s no ‘curse encyclopedia’ with every possible curse in it. We just have to look.”

Baz made a complicated face. Eyebrows knitted together, pouty lips downturned, but his eyes didn’t look angry or sad. Simon could almost swear he looked worried. Almost scared. But that couldn’t be right. What did Baz have to be worried about? This was a good thing. This was a chance for him to escape.

“Very well,” he said. “We better start reading then.”

Baz opened the book, carefully balancing it on his knee, away from his now sleeping pet swan. Simon simply nodded and opened his own book. The two fell into companionable silence. Simon tried to focus on the pages, but his eyes drifted upwards every once in awhile. Every time, Baz was still reading, and his face was still blank. But Simon still liked to look at him. Maybe it was some irrational fear over Baz suddenly disappearing. Maybe it was just because he was nice to look at. Simon didn’t think about it too much, and went back to reading.

* * *

 

“Good gods, Simon,” David barked. “You look like a mess.”

 _Good morning to you too, Davy,_ Simon wanted to snap. Why the king thought that was a good way to greet his adopted son was beyond him. He did look like a mess though, but he had for weeks. The fact that David was only noticing now spoke volumes about his relationship with Simon.

“Apologies, Father,” Simon said quietly.

“Why do you look so disheveled?”

 _Because I’ve been spending most of my nights with a swan boy and the few hours I do sleep are plagued with weird nightmares,_ he thought. Saying it in his mind helped him resist the urge to say it out loud. “I’ve just been studying hard, that’s all. Working on my magic control.”

David shook his head. He did that a lot with Simon. “Very well. That is an area you definitely lack in.” Simon flinched slightly at the bite in his voice. David turned and gestured for Simon to follow.” Let’s get going. There’s someone you must see. Fix your jacket before we arrive.”

Simon trailed behind David, re-buttoning his brocade jacket as they went. Who would David want him to see? A visiting diplomat? Some influential lord? Either way, Simon was dfar too tired to deal with them.

They entered the grand hall together. Simon hand to bend around David to see. But when he did, a smile immediately burst across his face.

“Aggie!” He yelled. His heart immediately felt light and happy. Agatha grinned back at him. She looked amazing. Her skin was beautifully tanned, hair sun bleached near white. Obviously the far southern coast had treated her well. But he’d missed her so much, and he was so happy to her again.

Simon ran forward, eager to wrap his arms around his friends. Agatha ran as well. But that was quickly stopped.

“Simon!” David barked. “Behave yourself.”

“Agatha,” Lady Wellbelove said gravely.

Both the prince and the lady stopped in their tracks, though slid a bit on the polished floor. Simon hung his head with arms behind his back.

“Sorry, Father,” Simon said quietly.

“Apologies, Mother,” Agatha echoed.

“Greet the young Lady Wellbelove properly, Simon.”

Simon nodded. He straightened his posture, put one arm behind his back and the other over his stomach, and bowed deeply. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Lady Wellbelove. I hope you enjoyed your excursion.”

Agatha in turn held her skirt in both hands and curtsied properly. “Thank you, your highness. It’s an honour to be in your presence.”

That hit Simon in the gut. It shouldn’t be an honour for Agatha to see him. It should be normal. They were inseparable at school. Roght ow it felt like there was a wall of glass between them. They could see each other, but were forced apart. Simon hated that.

They straightened up, facing each other again. David and Lady Wellbelove had moved to right behind them both. David put a firm hand on Simon’s shoulder.

“We’re very happy to have you back in court, your ladyship,” he said. “We have much to discuss, Lady Wellbelove. Simon, you should show the young Lady around the castle. There have been some improvements she should see.”

Simon nodded. “Of course, Father.” Simon offered his arm like how he was taught. Agatha took it like she was taught. “Shall we, my lady?”

“We shall,” Agatha replied.

The pair walked off towards the main exit. Simon turned his head back slightly. He saw David and Lady Wellbelove with their heads together. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, it caused a rare smile on the king’s face. He turned back, and tried to think nothing of it.

Once Simon and Agatha were far out of sight and earshot, there was no more need for the glass wall. Simon wrapped his arms around Agatha in a crushing bear hug. He held her so tight her feet lifted from the ground. Agatha giggled and hugged him back just as hard.

“So glad you’re back, Aggie,” he said, muffled in her shoulder.

Agatha giggled. “Happy to be back, Si.”

He put her down, but hugged her for a bit longer. He was just so happy to see her after months away. He knew she wanted to go somewhere new after graduating school, but still, it hurt to not have her around. He missed his friend. They eventually pulled apart, enormous smiles on their faces.

“How have you been, Si?” she asked. “So much must’ve changed. Your hair has somehow gotten more wild.”

She ruffled his curls. He chuckled and playfully pushed her hand away. “Stop it, Ags. If someone points it out to David, he’ll make me cut it.”

“Oh what a tragedy. Simon Snow looking all courtly and royal.”

Simon grinned, both because of her teasing and her using his name. She liked to do that. It was her small way of telling Simon he was more than a prince to her. That his original name wasn’t totally gone just because King David said so.

“It would look terrible on me, trust me.” He offered his hand. Agatha took it. They walked down the grand hall together, swinging their arms back and forth. “So how was the south coast?”

Agatha sighed dreamily. “Oh, it was magical. The sea was sparkling blue, the sand was bright white, just gorgeous. I’d be happy staying there forever.”

Simon grinned. His heart felt warm. He was happy when his friends were happy. “Sounds incredible. I would love to see it one day. If David ever lets me out of princely duties.”

Simon meant it to be a joke, but Agatha’s face suddenly fell. Her pretty pink lips pressed together. She held Simon’s hand tighter. “Ags? What’s wrong? You alright?”

Agatha sighed heavily, then stopped out of nowhere. Simon stopped with her of course. She took his other hand. “Simon,” she said quietly, “do you know why I’m back?”

“Because...your trip is done. Right?”

“No,” she sighed, “it wasn’t. I was supposed to stay for another eight weeks. But Mother said I had to come back now. Before the winter ball.”

That was...weird. The winter ball? That was a fun court event, sure, but hardly a reason to cut a trip short. “W-Why?”

Agatha’s face got even more tense. She pulled Simon to a nearby stone bench. They sat together on the cold rock under a grand landscape picture of the countryside. It felt far too cheery for what seemed to be solemn conversation.

“Simon,” Agatha said, “my parents have been talking to King David a lot. All three have apparently agreed that the two of us, we’d be a good match. For marriage. And they want to announce the engagement at the winter ball.”

The world stopped spinning for a long moment. Simon felt his stomach drop, the whole organ plummeting down into the depths of the Earth itself. He knew he was looking at Agatha with incredibly wide eyes and mouth so large he’d catch flies. He just...he couldn’t believe it.

“What!?” he shouted. “They...they’re seriously planning for that?”

Agatha nodded solemnly. “That’s what my Mum says. They think that because we’re friends we’d make a good arranged match. I’m from a good noble house too, which helps. And, well, our children would have noble blood because of me. The court would like that.”

 _Because I’m still a commoner at heart_ , Simon thought. It was a painful but grounding truth. Dress him up in fancy coats, give him a crown, call him Prince, but deep down the court would always still think of him as Simon Snow, the little orphan with a rough accent and poor blood. Simon couldn’t blame them. He still thought of himself that way too. The only difference was that Simon never saw it as a bad thing.

Simon found himself nodding as well. “I see. But, Aggie, I just, I don’t, I’ve never thought-”

“Of me in that way?” Agatha ran a comforting hand over Simon’s. “Don’t worry, Si, me neither. I mean, I thought I did. We both did. But we both know how that worked out.”

Simon chuckled under his breath. Yeah, that embarrassment came back to haunt him occasionally. Memories of Agatha and Simon as two awkward fifteen year olds, holding hands for the first time, trying to make feelings they didn’t have magically appear, because everyone said they were cute. Other students cooed and awed. That didn’t help at all. But when the two finally kissed, just a sweet short peck, Agatha had been the first to say she didn’t feel anything. Simon had been relieved, because he didn’t feel anything either. They went back to friends, and it was the best decision they ever made. And now, they were being forced together once more. But this time there probably wouldn’t be a way out of it.

“Fuck,” Simon breathed. “This is bad.”

“Yeah agreed,” Agatha added.

“I’m not sure what to do.”

“Me neither."

Simon scratched his head. "We could ask Penny. She usually has the answers.”

“When it comes to magic? Yes. When it comes to matter of court? I don’t think so.”

They giggled. It was quiet, private. A joke between friends. That was all they were meant to be, friends. Simon knew that, as did Agatha. But here they were. Once they were done, both leaned against the wall, still holding hands.

“I don’t want this,” Agatha whispered, voice slightly strained, slightly angereed. “I don’t want to be the prize for a good deal my parents made with the king. I want to be with someone who chose me. I want them to love me. It sounds stupid, but...I want to be someone’s everything.”

Simon squeezed her hand. “It’s not stupid, Ags. I want someone to love me too. Hell, I definitely wouldn’t mind being someone’s everything.”

“Right? It would be fantastic. I’ve never felt anything close to that yet though. Have you?”

Simon shook his head. He couldn’t say he had. No one had ever made him feel like he was their everything. And no one had ever felt close to being his. The closest thing he’d had to that feeling, well, his obsession with finding Baz. The way it consumed his every waking thought and occasionally his sleeping ones to. But that was it. And that wasn’t an everything feeling, right?

“We should probably get back to them,” Agatha said. Simon could hear the sadness in her words. He squeezed her hand once more.

“Yeah. Not just yet, though.”

The corner of Agatha’s lip quirked up. “Okat not yet.”

And so the best friends sat there. Silent, worried, but happy to be next to each other again.

* * *

 

Agatha and Lady Wellbelove left shortly after. Simon bid them proper farewells, a far cry from the crushing goodbye hug he gave Agatha before entering the ballroom again. Then he was brought with David into the King’s Study. David sat in his satin chair behind the large oak desk. Even though he was the one standing, Simon felt incredibly small.

“So,” David said smoothly, “I trust the young Lady Wellbelove has already informed you of the reason for her early arrival.” Simon nodded once. “Good. Then this discussion will be brief. There still needs to be some more negotiations, so the engagement announcement will be held off on until the winter ball.”

“Father, I-” Simon took a deep breath, trying to smooth out his cluttered thoughts. “Father, Aga- the Young Lady Wellbelove and I discussed this. And, to be honest...neither of us want this engagement. We’re very close friends but we aren’t in love each other like. We’d prefer it not to happen.”

David scoffed. Simon’s heart sank. “Love?” The King said the word like it was a terrible disease. “Simon, love is not important here. I’m creating a new laws, new ideals, a new dynasty. It will be your job to continue it, to make sure it goes beyond even the Pitches.” He said the old royal name with the same inflection as love. “So if marrying a friend you’re not in love with will assure that, so be it.”

“But, David-!”

“No buts, Simon. You can’t think with your heart. I haven’t, not ever, and look at all I’ve achieved.” He stretched both his arms out, indicating his beautiful study with lots of fancy cloths, shiny metals, and big books. All things Simon didn’t even like. “This will be good for us. And remember, I’m always ‘Father’, not David. I chose working for the good of the people over wife and child, so now I must have you, a ward. And we have to maintain the illusion of a bloodline. But a real, legitimate, noble one can happen with Lady Wellbelove. Your engagement _will_ happen.” He sat back down, one leg crossed over the other. “That will be all, Simon. You’re dismissed.” He waved dismissively.

Simon’s anger spiked, and his skin burned with magic in response. He was pretty sure he would leave fingerprint shaped char marks in the wood. There was so much he wanted to say, but every word got clogged up in his throat. He felt stupid, useless, something David did to him far too much. The forgiving part of him reminded Simon that David still took him in. But he was so fucking angry right now.

“Bye, _Father,”_ he spat, then turned on his heels and stormed out.

Simon stomped down the echoey hallways, grumbling and wiping furious tears from his eyes. He was so angry. Angry at David, at court, at his position, at every stupid thing this stupid princehood entailed. Never had he wanted to be a real commoner again more than right now. He couldn’t do that now. But tonight, while he sat in a lake with a mysterious boy, he would be. Simon could not wait until the sun set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but some plot advancement! The whole engagement thing will be explored more in the next chapter. Since I'm posting a fic for Baz's birthday next Monday, I'll be posting Chapter 6 on Tuesday instead. So a little longer wait, sorry. I'll see you guys next time :D
> 
> EDIT: I'm an idiot who cannot tell time. Baz's birthday is on Sunday not Monday so nvm I'll be posting the next chapter on Monday as usual :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is angry at David, and Baz gives him advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my fave chapters to write. It's really fluffy and cute. And there's art by bookerella. Enjoy!

“It’s just so fucking insane!” Simon shouted. “It’s stupid, and annoying, and-and stupid!”

“You already said that,” Penny sighed as she arranged the copper pots. The hustle and bustle of the market drowned out Simon’s volume. Everyone was busy preparing for the solstice festival to notice his rantings and ravings. He sat behind her stall, legs crossed, pouting like the child he surely felt like right now.

“I can’t believe he’s doing this Pen,” he muttered. “He’s going to make me marry one of my best friends. Why does it have to be her? Why can’t I ‘continue the dynasty’ with just anyone?!”

Penny sighed. She turned around, elbows on her counter. “Simon, you’re smart, you know exactly why.”

Simon scowled, curling in himself even more. “Yeah, yeah I know. No matter what title Davy gives me or how he tells the nobles to act, I’m still...lower in their eyes. Agatha’s family is all old and well respected and stuff.”

“And marrying her will legitimize you and your future heirs in their eyes.”

Simon’s heart sank. He knew it made sense, but It hurt to know that a bunch of snooty people would always look down on him, and there was nothing he could do about it. “What makes me any better or worse than them?” he grumbled. “How is my blood any different than theirs?”

Penny raised one hand to the sky. “Hey, amen to that. I completely agree. But I don’t need to curry favour with the nobles. David does.”

He twisted the headscarf between his shaky fingers. It kept him from punching something. “B-But I thought David wanted to work against the traditions! He was a lord, sure, but he was low level and never liked the court. He says he wants to change shit. Yet he’s making me marry Aggie to ‘curry favour’ with the old nobles? So, what the fuck?!”

Penny sighed. “Because, no matter how much Davy talks about changing stuff, the old nobles still have a lot of influence. He has to deal with them if he wants to do anything significant. And the only way to get what you want is to schmooze or to threaten. David usually chooses the latter, honestly, but occasionally he has to try the former or they’ll revolt. So, he’s getting you to marry Agatha so he can push his new laws.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

“Of course it doesn’t, Si!” she shouted, one hand on her hip. “It’s craven, cynical, and horrible for you. I’m not saying that’s an excuse, just a reason. Royal politics are bullshit and I wish I could change them for you.”

Simon’s face morphed into lopsided smile. He reached up towards his friend, hand open and offered. “I know, Pen. Thanks.”

Penny smiled too. She took his hand, squeezing it tightly. Then quickly pulled him to his feet, making Simon nearly fall over. “Now, I didn’t endorse you sneaking out of the castle so you could just complain. You’re going to help me sell some damn cookware, mister.”

“Oh? Think a prince hawking for you will get your sales higher?” Simon waggled his eyebrows for extra sarcastic emphasis. Penny rolled her eyes.

“You’re not as easily recognizable as you think, Si. Especially with that ridiculous thing on your head. But your voice is quite loud when it needs to be. So get shouting!”

She shoved him out into the bustling market crowd. He bumped into an old man, who glared and grumbled at him. Simon called out an apology, but he didn’t care. He just went about his day. Maybe his face really wasn’t as well known as he thought. That was a small stab to his ego, but at the same time he didn’t mind. He didn’t like being prince. Truly, he wanted to be a hero, strong and well known in his own right. But at the moment, he was more than happy to be a cookware salesman.

“Oi!” He shouted, holding up two pots towards the sky. “Get your premium kitchenware here! High grade copper, lovely finish, easy to clean by hand or by magic! Get it right here! Hey, how about you, mate? Want a pot? C’mon you know you do!”

He flaunted his loud and forceful sales technique with ease. Simon turned his head slightly. Just behind him, Penelope was trying to contain her snickers, a hand over her mouth. Hero, prince, no matter what he was, he’d always want to make Penelope laugh. That sound made him forget his troubles.

At least for now.

* * *

 

Simon knew he was being particularly aggressive in the dueling tonight. His anger and frustration, brewing for the past few days, were definitely bleeding through, making his attacks stronger and more forceful. Baz kept up of course though. He was equally strong, if not more so, and had been learning well. He parried Simon’s strong jab, then another, then another. But when Simon went for a overhead downward slash, Baz just barely blocked it. He used two hands to push his stick against Simon’s.

“What’s got you so inflamed tonight?” Baz teased, smirking from beneath raven strands.

“Shut up,” Simon said, shifting even more his weight forward, pressing harder on Baz’s stick.

“Oo, very eloquent.”

He looked up at Simon through long lashes, a little glint in his deep sea grey. Simon’s pulse instantly picked up. It was infuriating. Baz could be so smug sometimes. He didn’t want Baz to be calm and smug when he was so furious. He pushed harder, but Baz just leaned back, taking the weight. Simon growled. He wanted to win, needed to win. Why wouldn’t he fall? Why couldn’t be just-

Baz stepped to the side.

“Gah!” Simon yelled as he fell over, face crashing into the grass. Baz chuckled from behind him. He whipped around, his eyes narrowed at Baz’s stupid smug smirk.

“My point,” Baz drawled. “I’m finally catching up, I think.”

Simon growled. He swiped his leg around, catching both of Baz’s ankles. The other boy yelped and fell right on his arse. Simon sprung up, one foot on Baz’s chest and stick pointing downwards. He breathed harshly, glaring at Baz.

_"My_ point,” he said.

Baz rolled his eyes. “Yes yes, you’re very strong and macho. Now help me up like a good sport.” Baz offered his hand, and Simon violently pulled him up. He nearly fell over with the force, and glared at Simon. “Good Gods,” he grumbled, “aggressive much?”

Simon grunted, dropping Baz’s hand and stomped towards the lake. He tossed his stick to the side and sat down with his knees pulled up, face buried deep in his linen trousers. He watched as Baz strolled over. His long arms were crossed over his chest, grey eyes slits of annoyed contempt.

“What’s gotten you in such a mood tonight?” Simon shrugged. Baz scoffed. “Have you ever noticed that half your sentences are shrugs?”

Simon glared. “Fuck off,” he growled.

Baz snorted, hands falling to his hips. “You really are in a snit.” He sat down next to Simon with his legs crossed, posture perfect of course. “What’s wrong?”

Simon picked at the grass. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something if you’re this upset. I’d prefer you just tell me and stop being a passive aggressive arsehole so I don’t have to suffer.”

He threw more grass, some falling and some flitting away on the breeze. Simon could easily refuse. Telling Baz would risk exposing that he was a prince, something he never wanted to be with him. But...Baz was his friend, right? He deserved to know. At least, the parts he was willing to tell.

“It’s my guardian,” Simon muttered. “My adoptive father. He’s, making me do something I don’t want to. It’s not harmful though! It’s just...something that would help him but make me unhappy. And I get why he has to. But I still don’t like it.” He pulled even further into himself. “It, it makes me feel worthless. Like I’m not good enough on my own. I have to be of use to him somehow. It’s...horrible.”

Simon’s eyes flicked up to Baz again. Baz had his usual blank, bored look, except his eyes were a bit curious. Maybe just on this side of intrigued. His head tilted to the side. Black hair fell in front of his face in a lazy wave.

“So,” he said, “your father is forcing you to marry someone you don’t want to.”

Simon’s spine went ramrod straight. His heart was beating far too fast. Fuck, he was exposed, he knew, he’d figured out Simon was a prince. “H-How did you know?”

Baz smirked. Which made the prince’s mouth go dry for some reason. “Give me some credit, Simon, it wasn’t that hard. You said your father was forcing you to do something that made you unhappy but wasn’t exactly harmful. You described him as using you for his own advantage, like a bargaining chip. I’ve read books on social customs. Arranged marriages are used to fortify agreements between two parties. So I’m guessing your adoptive father is using your hand to seal some deal he’s made?”

Simon’s jaw was on the forest floor. “Y-Yeah, that’s exactly it. You’re...really smart, wow.”

Baz’s smirk got even bigger. But Simon could also swear there was a touch of an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. It was so slight that he couldn’t know for sure though. Baz tucked a piece of raven hair behind his ear and looked to the water. “So what does your guardian want so badly that he has to give you over for it?”

That made Simon gulp. This was his chance, to finally reveal what he truly was. But the thought of telling Baz sent his stomach into horrificaly tight knots. He thought of Agatha bowing, of Miss Possibelf and Cook Pritchard’s caution. He didn’t want Baz to look at him different, to suddenly see him as the royalty he never asked to be. If that made him a coward and a bastard, so be it.

“Status,” he blurted out. “My guardian, he wants more status. He’s very ambitious, wants to be powerful, make a difference and all. The girl he wants me to marry, people like her. They’ll, give him stuff if I marry her. And he’s giving her family money, I think.”

“Hm, I see,” Baz said thoughtfully. “There’s a word for that right? ‘Social climber’, I think.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” It was strangely accurate. Even though he used to be a lord and was now a king, David was a social climber, always looking for more power and influence. He wanted power to push his reforms. Nothing would stop him, it seemed.

“Is that why you went to Mage’s School? Because it looked good to have a son who went to somewhere fancy?”

Simon chuckled. “Yeah, I think it was something like that.” It was easier to say that than mention the old Pitch law that said all royal heirs had to go to Mage’s School.

Baz relaxed a bit, leaning back on one arm. “Well, at least you got a proper education out of your father being a complete prick.”

Simon shrugged, still fiddling with pieces of grass. “I don’t know. He’s alright sometimes.”

“Don’t do that,” Baz snapped, frowning at Simon. The other boy tilted his head in confusion.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t make excuses for him. He’s treating you like a bargaining chip for his own ambitions. He’s a prick, full stop, end of sentence.”

Simon’s mouth pulled into his own frown, but more confused than angry. “I-It’s not that simple. He can be okay. He’s really not all bad. And no matter what, he still took me in when no one else would.” That was a very short, simple summary of a much longer story. Simon would tell Baz about that. One day, maybe...

Baz shook his head, dislodging his hair so it fell in his perturbed pretty face. “Just because he took you in doesn’t mean you owe him for the rest of your life. You never asked for him. He chose to take care of you. That should be his privilege, not your debt.”

Simon could feel some gears turning in his brain. He wasn’t as slow as most people assumed. He could put things together, he just needed a bit more time. His head lolled to the side. “You speak from experience,” he said matter of factly.

That made Baz’s posture go straight again, but only for a second. He curled in on himself, fiddling with his trouser, mouth a tense thin line. He didn’t respond. Cautiously, he shuffled closer, his knees nearly touching Baz’s.

“Did someone tell you to be grateful to him? The cloaked guy?” Simon asked quietly.

Baz’s eyes flicked up. His deep sea grey was intimidating this close up. “Are we starting the questions for tonight?”

Simon shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to?”

“Y-Yeah, of course.” Simon prepared to be struck down at best, and getting an earful at worst. But Baz didn’t do either. Instead, he sighed, and nodded his head slowly.

“Yes,” he whispered, “Vera, the woman who took care of me when I was young. When I got mad at the cloaked man, she always told me, ‘he brings us food and keeps us clothed, don’t be angry with him.’ She was right, he did care for us in a way. But he would never let us leave either. I was supposed to be grateful because he kept our prison comfy?” He scowled incredibly hard. “Ridiculous. I always hated him, and it turned out my hatred was justified. Considering that when I tried to escape he did...this to me.”

Baz gestured noncommittally to himself and the lake. Simon’s breath hitched. “H-he cursed you for trying to escape?”

The boy nodded again. “Yes. I scaled the wall while Vera slept. I was almost at the top when he showed up and dragged me back down. He called me ungrateful, told me that if I was so desperate to be on my own, I wouldn’t mind if Vera went away. And that I needed to learn my lesson.” He looked out towards his lake, where white birds slept. “He said, ‘if you love those damn birds so much, Basil, surely you wouldn’t mind being one.’” He scoffed and clenched his fist. “Dramatic fucker.”

Simon was at a loss for words. Well, more of a loss than usual. This was the most Baz had ever explained about his curse. It felt exhilarating, to know more, but also scary. This felt like a lot. Baz was trusting him with a lot. Simon’s heart was beating quite hard right now.

“That’s horrible,” Simon whispered. “I-I don’t know what else to say. I’m not good at deep stuff. That just...sucks.”

Strangely, Baz let out a breathy chuckle. A very small smile pulled at his mouth. There was even a little sparkle in his eye. That was the last thing Simon had expected. “You’re right, in a very ineloquent way. It really does suck. This whole thing certainly, sucks.” He flicked his gaze to the side, looking right at Simon. “Your father, what he’s doing, that...sucks too.”

Simon’s first instinct was to argue, like it always had been. But he thought of the yelling, the sadness, everything damn thing David made Simon do for his own benefit.

He was starting to understand Baz’s point.

“I guess it does,” he chuckled. “Not much I can do.”

Baz shrugged. “You could run away.”

Simon chuckled more, then gave Baz a withering look. “Yeah, he won’t let me go that easily.” Baz quirked an eyebrow. Simon sighed and fell back. The stars were beautiful tonight. They almost made him forget his angst. “He’ll chase me down, scour the land, no stone left unturned.”

“Wow, he sounds...determined.”

Simon scoffed. “You have no idea, mate.” He reached up to the sky, desperate to hold onto something so incredible yet so far away. “Besides, I don’t know anyone outside of Watford Town. If I ran, I’d have nowhere to go. Maybe my friends would go with me, but I don’t want to do that to them. They don't deserve a life of running.”

Baz chuckled. “Well aren’t you noble.”

“That’s what everyone says. Friend says I’d make a perfect knight.

“Yeah, I can definitely see that.”

Baz fell back as well, hands linked over his stomach, dark hair spread out like a halo against the grass. They were silent for awhile. Just two young hopeless men gazing at the night sky. Simon was sure there was a ballad like this. And if there wasn’t, there needed to be one.

“You know,” Baz said quietly, “I’ve been charting the stars for years. Used my books to find out constellations.”

Simon lifted his head slightly. “Really?”

Baz nodded. “M-hm. Look.” He shifted closer and raised his hand, long finger pointing to the sky. “That right there, that’s the fox.”

He traced a vague fox like shape between the stars. Simon wasn’t really listening though. He was more focused on how close Baz was. His bony shoulder, his soft hair, his long leg. His entire body’s proximity made Simon’s breath feel scarce. But he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He’d never felt anything like this before

“Uh-huh,” Simon said, only a slight catch in his voice.

“Over there,” Baz moved his hand, “that’s the swan, with its wings spread out.”

“Appropriate.”

Baz kicked his ankle, but not with enough force to hurt. “And that,” Baz moved his hand up, “is the great dragon-”

“Who once tried to burn Watford down but was defeated by a great hero?”

“Yes. You know the story?”

Simon nodded. “I know a lot of the old stories. Sometimes the matron would read them to us at the orphanage. I told you, I like fairy tales.”

“Right, of course. Vera would read me those stories too, for bedtime. But I like philosophy and politics books better now.”

Something in Simon seized. Pieces were falling together in his mind. He wasn’t sure if they all fit, but he wanted to find out.

“Baz,” he said, slowly and quietly, “how...how old were you? When you first started living here?”

Baz froze. His arm was still pointing straight up at the star. But bit by bit, it fell, landing very close to Simon’s arm. That unknown feeling threatened to swallow Simon’s entire chest.

“I don’t know,” Baz whispered. “Young enough I don’t remember much from before I was here. I think...” he bit at his lip in contemplation, “I think I might have been five? Or six? I remember Vera giving me a large mint pie with a six carved on the top. So that was probably my sixth birthday.”

“Yeah, yeah, probably.” Simon nodded, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. “You really have been here a long time.”

Baz chuckled low in his throat. He turned his head towards Simon, and Simon did the same. A half smile pulled at Baz’s thin lips, an expression so terrifyingly suited to him. But his eyes were- well, they weren’t sad exactly. It was subtler than that. It was the kind of sorrow that no longer burned and ate you from the inside out, but merely ached. A sadness bred in isolation and accepted ages ago. Forlorn, maybe.

Baz looked very forlorn.

“I know,” he whispered.

Simon moved his hand, just brushing it against Baz’s. Baz jolted slightly, but didn’t move away. “But...not for much longer, okay? I’ll fix it. I promise.”

Baz’s mouth tensed for a moment. But he looked Simon in the eye, nodded, then looked back to the sky.

And that was all there was to say.

They were quite for a long time again. Baz gazed at the stars. So did Simon. He traced the dragon constellation with his eyes. He found the few others he knew. The chimera, the swordsman, the great castle, the first fire, all immortalized in the cosmos. Simon sometimes imagined he was up there. Remembered not as the commoner king or David’s heir, but Simon Snow, memorable by his own name alone. Someone who deserved to be up there because he did something good himself. It was a stupid fantasy. But still, it always sat in the back of Simon’s mind.

“Um,” Simon whispered. “I, uh, brought more books for us to look at.”

Baz shifted, finally breaking his stillness. “I see. Think something useful will be in them?”

“Yeah. They’re about potions and plants and stuff. Special herbs can reverse curses, apparently.”

“Hm, interesting.” Baz threw himself up to sitting, then went to his feet. “Let’s get started. Lots of text to read.”

He walked off to where Simon left his rucksack. Simon got up to follow, hands in his pockets. His stomach ached a bit. He wasn’t great at picking up social cues, but even Simon knew that had probably been some sort of moment, and he’d broken it.

Baz took out a large textbook and handed the other to Simon. He traced a long finger over the lettering.

“‘Herbal Remedies to Magical Maladies,” he read out. “Huh. Sounds interesting.”

Simon chuckled. “Really?”

Baz sat down cross legged, opening the volume on his lap. “It’s not what I usually read, sure, but I like any new knowledge.”

“You talk like a scholar sometimes.” Simon sat opposite him and flipped to the first page.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not. It’s just...I don’t get it, wanting to read books all the time. I like some books sure, but not any book. Or reading something just to learn.

Baz flicked his eyes up for a moment. “When you don’t get out in the world much except as a bird, books are really the only way to be educated.”

Simon felt like he’d been smacked in the face. There’d be a large red mark on his cheek if the hit hadn’t been verbal. He coughed awkwardly. “R-right, that makes sense. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Let’s just get this started.”

They began their reading. Simon’s book was on ancient potions. And that made for a very boring experience. There were pictures, sure, but they were diagrams with lots of numbers and charts. Simon tried to read it, he really did. But it was so dull, and he was so tired. The nightmares had only let him sleep an hour last night. And David had forced him into an entire afternoon of sword training. All the exhaustion hit him like a horse carriage going at full speed. His eyelids felt so heavy. His muscles and mind begged for rest. Gods, he was just so bloody _tired._

“Simon? You alright?”

Simon’s head snapped up, blinking rapidly. “I’m awake!”

Baz raised a suspicious brow. “Well, you may be now, but you certainly weren’t a moment ago. Are you tired?”

“No,” Simon said as he stifled a yawn. Baz smirked, obviously very amused at Simon’s stubbornness. Simon found it annoying. “Fuck off, I’m fine. Just keep reading.”

“Okay, I’ll keep reading, but you should get some sleep. Coming out here almost every night is obviously taxing you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No,” Baz snapped the book closed, “you’re not.” He went to his feet and stretched out his arm. “C’mon, get up.”

Simon’s face scrunched up in confusion. Baz sighed and rolled his eyes. With lightning speed, he bent down and grabbed Simon’s wrist.

“Hey!” Simon tried to break from Baz’s grip, but the man was strong. Damn the swan boy and his strong flying arms. He easily hauled Simon to his feet, then dragged him towards the tiny cottage. Simon struggled but it was no use. Baz opened the door and brought the other boy inside.

“Now,” Baz said firmly, and pointed at the cot. “Sleep.”

Simon crossed his arms. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

_“Yes!_ Stop being a child, Simon, you need sleep to function.”

Simon scowled at him. “I’m fine! I’ve been like this for weeks and I’m fine! And-And I just-” He groaned and dragged a hand over his face. His angry posture deflated. He was too tired to be angry now. “Baz...” he whispered, “we, we don’t get a lot of time. I can just sleep later.”

Baz didn’t respond. Simon cautiously moved his hand away, and saw Baz looking at him strangely. He was obviously curious, but confused too. And maybe just a little bit frightened. Simon didn’t know what he had to be scared of.

He took a step forward, unequivocally walking into Simon’s space, and slipped his fingers under Simon’s. Baz’s calluses scratched along his skin in that strangely pleasant way that made his nerves spark.

“Go to sleep, Simon,” he said softly. “I’ll still be here tomorrow night.”

Simon opened his mouth to argue. But the look on Baz’s face, that kind and sympathetic look, gave him pause. Baz was right. He’d still be here tomorrow. And maybe Simon could use a bit more sleep.

“Okay,” he sighed.

Baz’s lip quirked up. “Good. Get some rest. You can find your way out in the morning?”

“Yeah, will do.” Simon let out a yawn as he stumbled towards the cot. It looked completely unused, the old wool blanket neatly lain on top. Simon collapsed on it, and could instantly feel slumber take hold of his body.

“Night, Baz,” he mumbled

“Goodnight, Simon,” Baz said. “Rest well.”

Simon lazily raised his hand in acknowledgement. Distantly, he heard Baz’s footsteps fade away and the door shut. He fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

 

_He was walking down a hallway lined with fancy portraits and intricate Simon knew this hallway well. The boy was strolling down in it again, just like he had done so many times in these dreams. But when he looked up at the long red banners, they looked a bit more clear. The dream fog had dissipated slightly. Simon could make out something drawn in black, with wavy tendrils reaching upwards. He tried to focus, tried to make it out, but that was when it happened, right on time. In an instant, the world exploded into flames._

_But the dream didn’t end._

_Simon, even in the vague awareness of his dreams, knew they usually ended here. He was supposed to wake up with a start. But it kept going. The boy coughed and pushed himself up on his shaky arms. Rubble slid off his back. He looked down at his tiny hands. They were covered in black and grey ash. Simon felt the tears fall down his chubby cheeks, both from the fire’s heat and childish confusion._

_The scene suddenly happened in pieces, jumpy snippets of what he’d already seen. Running, calling for Mum, Mum standing there with the man’s arm around her neck, being told to run, rushing through the flames, and the man grabbing his neck._

_But things didn’t go black this time either._

_Suddenly, the boy and Simon were outside. Simon could tell. He couldn’t feel the smoke clog his lungs. The boy was slung over a man’s shoulder. His hands were bound with rope, which didn’t budge no matter how much he struggled. A big burlap sack on the man’s other shoulder bumped the boy over and over. His tear and smoke blurry eyes lifted up. A large building burned in the near distance. It was made of dark stone but the flames engulfed so much of it it was hard to see. There was a loud crack, and part of the roof caved in. The boy started to scream._

_“Where’s my Mum?!” he howled. “You hafta save my Mum!”_

_“I don’t have to do anything, you snivelling urchin,” the main growled. His voice was almost familiar, but Simon couldn’t quite place it through the haze of the dream._

_“Mummy!” he yelled. Though only heard distantly, like most things in the dreams, the sound of his voice broke Simon’s heart._

_“Shut up!”_

_Something smooth tapped the boy’s temple. A wave of exhaustion hit his body. Every muscle and bone went limp. He was still crying as he passed out again._

* * *

 

Simon bolted upright. His chest felt constricted and hot. His hands were glowing deep, rich gold with power. Even his eyes stung like they’d been in smoke. Or maybe... Simon put a hand to his cheek, and his fingers came back wet. Crying. His eye stung from crying. Tears from the little boy, begging and pleading for his mummy.

It took Simon a few moments to recollect himself, to calm his magic and remember where he was. Not his grand palace room, or even his dirty orphanage bunk, but a tiny cot in a tiny wooden cottage. Baz’s room. He looked down to see the blanket pulled over his legs. Weird. He was pretty sure he fell asleep on top of it.

Early morning light was bleeding in from the one window. Crap, Simon had to get back to the palace before David noticed. He scrambled out from the bed, laying down the blanket as nicely as he could. As he exited, he nearly tripped over something.

“What the...” he whispered. At his feet were toppled books and a now messy pile of clothes. Baz’s clothes, sitting there, just like the first time Simon fell into the lake. Simon looked up towards the lake. He inhaled sharply. Sitting there in the centre of the water, along with all the white birds, was a single black swan wearing a thin silver chain.

It- the bird- Baz was curled in on himself, long neck twisted around, head hidden just above a raven coloured wing. He was obviously sleeping. That made sense. He slept during the day as a swan so he could spend as much time as a human at night. Simon found it strange to see him like this. Of course he knew Baz spent half his days as a bird, but he hadn’t seen him so since that first night. And seeing was far different than talking about it.

_At least he looks peaceful,_ Simon thought, because he did. Baz’s eyes were closed. His whole body slowly expanded and rested with each breath. Simon was tempted to go over and touch him. Maybe see if his feathers were as soft was his hair. But, he had a feeling Baz wouldn’t like that. He barely handled talking about being a swan, he’d probably hate Simon seeing him as one. So Simon left him to sleep.

He put Baz’s clothes back in a neat pile, and left the books there too. His rucksack was conveniently placed there too. As he slung it over his shoulders, Simon realised he’d picked it up upside down. Luckily only his dagger and sketch book set fell out. He quickly put his dagger away, but lingered on the book. An idea crossed his mind, which wasn’t always a good thing when it came to Simon. But this one didn’t seem that bad.

Simon scribbled on the page, then ripped it out and laid it on the clothes. This was stupid. Baz probably wouldn’t see it for ages. Maybe not even until he turned human again. But Simon wanted to do it anyway. He looked at it one more time before he turned around.

_Thanks for the bed. I’ll see you tonight, Baz._ _  
_ _Simon_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun because of all the pining and the growing affection imo. I like writing that build up. My main worry is that it's boring, but I hope you guys liked it. Next chapter will be next Monday, and prepare yourselves, there is angst incoming. See you next time :)
> 
> EDIT: Art is not showing up here either on mobile. F you, AO3 -_- Feel free to look at it [here!](https://bazypitchandsimonsnow.tumblr.com/post/183056821343/the-black-swan)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon learns new things, and hears something he wished he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: something bad happens in this chapter. I'll put the TW in the end note. It's not too bad but it could be intense for some people. I want to say "enjoy" but that seems inappropriate for Angst. So hope you think the Angst is well written :)

“Hey Simon,” Agatha said, “what are you doing there?”

Simon bolted up from his sketchbook. He was starting to get concerned by how many people could sneak up on him. Exhaustion was really getting to him.

“Hey Aggie,” he replied. “Just drawing. Finished David’s latest policy homework so I thought I’d take a break. What are you doing here?”

She sat down next to him, ankles crossed perfectly. “My father is talking business with the King. I wanted to come see you, so he brought me with him. And it’s probably good David is busy, because if His Majesty came in here, he’d tell you to stop slacking off.”

“Definitely. But he’s off doing some king shit with your dad so I’m not too worried.”

“Lucky for you.” She leaned over, looking at the page. “What are you drawing? It looks, um, disturbing...”

That was certainly one word for the piece. It was a rough sketch of what he saw as the little boy. The inferno rushing towards him, his tiny hands feebly trying to block it. It was better than his previous one, which was the boy’s mum being strangled by the mysterious man. Their faces were obscured, just scribbles of darkness, since Simon couldn't decipher specific appearances in the dreams. But the positions alone were frightening enough.

“Yeah,” Simon sighed. “I know.”

She started flipping through the pages. Simon’s face flushed. He didn’t like people seeing his art on a good day. Today wasn’t a good day. His whole body was vibrating with the need to hide his sketchbook.

“Wow,” she said, “are you okay, Si? This is scary stuff.”

Simon shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, Ags. It’s just...” He slumped in his chair. “It’s stuff from these dreams I’ve been having. Been going on for awhile and I can’t get them stop. I thought maybe drawing them out would help. No success yet.”

“Hm, interesting.” She picked up the sketchbook, examining the pages with a careful eye. Simon tried to grab it from her, put she slapped his hand away. “Have they been happening frequently?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Simon mumbled, rubbing the aching back of his hand.

“Are they really consistent? The same thing happens every time with little variation?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Have you told Penelope about them?”

Simon shifted uncomfortably. “No. She’s really stressed with her job, and she’s already super worried about me all the time. I didn’t want to give her more to worry about.”

Agatha gave him a sympathetic look. “I get that, Si. But...you might want to tell her about these.”

“Why?” He sat forward, elbows on the table.

“Because if I’m remembering our old divination classes right, these dreams sound like psychic ones.”

Simon’s eyes widened. His heart was racing. Psychic? He’d never even thought of that. But considering that he’d spaced out through a lot of those divination classes, it wasn’t something he exactly remembered well.

“So,” Simon said slowly, “you think these are flashes of something in the future?”

Agatha shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t know. I just remember learning that super consistent dreams can be psychic ones. But,” she shrugged, “I was never that great a student. Which is why you should talk to Penelope. She’ll be able to tell you for sure.”

Simon ran his finger over the sketch, smudging the mother’s ripped dress slightly. “I don’t know, Ags. They’re just dreams. I burden Penny with enough of my shit. I don’t really want to pile on more.”

“You won’t be burdening her, Si. She’s your friend. She’ll want to help you.”

He shrugged. Agatha sighed. It was her _“I love you but you drive me crazy”_ sigh. Simon was extremely familiar with it, from both Agatha and Penny. He knew she had a point. But there was so much going on, so much he was already dealing with it, he wasn’t sure how to fit this into everything.

“Hey, who’s this?”

Simon’s head snapped up, and his heart promptly stopped. Because Agatha was looking at his latest sketch of Baz. Unfortunately it was one of his more detailed ones, showing the boy from his shoulders up with extreme attention to his unique appearance. Simon had spent half an hour just trying to get his cheekbones right, and another on his eyes. He was quite proud of it. He’d captured Baz’s wavy hair, sharp features, and slightly pouty mouth. Even his blank, bored expression was near perfect. But now Agatha was seeing it. It was bad enough to let her see his scary nightmare art, like hell she was going to look at his even more embarrassing work.

Simon snatched the sketchbook away. “Nothing! I-It’s no one, just...an idea, of a guy. In my head.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Well, then that’s pretty damn detailed for just an idea.” She leaned closer. “Who is he? A guy from town? Some visiting noble son?”

Simon held his sketchbook closer to his chest. “He’s...a friend.” What a simple word for something and someone so unbelievably complicated.

“Hm, I see.” She smirked, head tilted slightly to the side. “Very handsome friend.”

Simon could feel an inexplicable blush creeping up his cheek. He shrugged and pulled in on himself. “I guess you could say that.

Agatha chuckled. “I say it’s pretty objective. At least the way you’ve drawn him.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

She leaned forward, chin resting on her palm. Her expression was more than a bit forlorn. “I’m very sorry about our...predicament, it’s probably hard for you and your ‘friend’”

Simon shook his head vigorously. “No, no definitely not, Ags! Don’t be sorry! Nothing is your fault. And really, it’s not like that at all. We-” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “We’re just friends, there’s just a lot of other stuff too. Not romantic stuff though, other stuff. It’s really complicated. I can’t explain it. But I promise our stupid engagement isn’t causing any problems, and it’s really not your fault anyway.”

Agatha’s face softened, and Simon immediately felt better. She put a hand over his. “Okay, if you say so, Si. But in my opinion,” she reached over and tapped his heated cheek, “anyone who makes you blush like this, is not just a friend.”

“Stop,” he grumbled. He felt like a defiant child. He wished he could refute Agatha more firmly, explain what Baz was to him and why their relationship absolutely was not anything romantic at all. That his blush was absolutely meaningless. But he couldn’t reveal anymore about Baz. It was one thing he’d been able to keep secret all this time. He wasn’t going to break that streak now.

Agatha sighed and threw an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her, just like he would with Ebb or Penny. He was glad to have all of them so much.

“Whoever this Baz guy is,” she whispered, “I hope he’s good for you.”

Simon put his own arm around her. _He is,_ he wanted to say. Because Baz was kind, and funny, and Simon looked forward to seeing him every night. He was Simon’s friend. That was it. Simon knew that was absolutely it.

* * *

 

“Mandrake root does what?!” Baz sounded positively horrified, his eyes and mouth very wide open.

“It screams,” Simon said matter of factly. “You pull it from the ground, and it can scream so loud that you hear it for a miles.”

“That’s terrifying! So every time you need for spells, you have to have your eardrums destroyed by a horrible little plant?”

“Oh, no, it only screams if you pull it out wrong. Which I did in class once.”

Baz chuckled. Simon found himself liking that expression much better than looking so shocked. “Of course you did.”

“Hey!” Simon ripped a plant from the ground and threw it at Baz. The other boy chuckled more, shaking a leaf out of his hair. “Prick,” Simon muttered.

Baz shrugged, leaning back on the wooden wall. “I’m just saying, you’re impulsive. I’m guessing you pulled it from the soil without reading the instructions first.”

Simon grumbled. He looked back down at the book balanced on his knees. Baz laughed under his breath and did the same. They sat together against the cottage wall, sparring sticks abandoned next to them. Simon noticed that they were sitting closer than normal, bodies one coincidental movement from touching. He wasn’t sure why he noticed that. He sat this close to his other friends. But Baz was different. Being so close made Simon’s pulse beat in his ears, something that had never happened before.

“I’m not sure any of these plants would help,” Baz said quietly as he flipped the page.

“You sure?” Simon leaned over to get a better look. His shoulders brushed against Baz’s, and Baz jolted away. Simon pulled back immediately. “Sorry! I did something wrong, sorry.”

Baz shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. You just...surprised me.” He shifted, readjusting his position, but not actually pulling further away. “I think this book is mostly for healing spells. Which I don’t think will fix me.”

“Well, we are trying to heal you in a way I guess,” Simon chuckled. Baz rolled his eyes.

“My situation is certainly not the same thing as soothing a burn, Simon.”

“Yeah, you’ve got me there.” Simon flipped to the next page and scanned over it. “You’re right though, the stuff here is too common to have anything about curses. You should try another book.”

Baz sighed and put the volume down. He leaned his head back against the wooden wall, eyes closed. “In a minute. Let me rest.”

Simon closed his own book and turned to look at Baz. “Tired too?”

“Yeah. My sleep has been bad.”

“I understand that. Mine has been total shit too.” He took the book off his legs and gently placed it on the ground. “And these books are useful but they make me tired.”

“Mm, I can sympathise. I like all books and even I’m fatigued.” He shifted to his side, shoulder pressed against the wooden wall, body turned to Simon. “Let’s take a break. Ask me something.”

Simon did the same. They were quite close. Simon could almost feel Baz’s breath. It was like the smallest whisper of a summer breeze. And Simon found he didn’t mind it one bit.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Um, favourite book? Can’t believe I haven’t asked that yet.”

Baz chuckled. A puff of air brushed against his reddening cheek. “Me neither. Well, that’s a hard choice. I love existential philosophy, of course. And there’s ‘The Evolution of Language in the Modern Age’ by Lord Eric Whitevine.” _Dear Gods, he is such a nerd,_ Simon thought surprisingly wistfully. “But I think I like the ‘Philosophy of a Kingdom’ by Natasha Pitch. Brilliant thoughts on the morality of a monarchy. Even though I’ve never technically been ruled by a monarch, I’m fascinated by the political and moral concepts she writes about.”

Simon nodded along, pretending he knew what the hell Baz was talking about. He knew of Queen Natasha Pitch, of course. Everyone knew about her in some way. Late Queen of Watford, youngest ever ruler, reputed scholar, and victim of a tragic early death. Penny owned some of her books. Simon had tried to read them once because Penny said he could learn a lot about ruling from them. But Natasha’s writings were so damn convoluted Simon never got past page one. He was impressed that Baz was able to read her books, let alone decipher and appreciate their meaning.

“Cool,” Simon said.

“That’s it?” Baz chuckled. “Cool?”

“I mean, it’s cool that you like that stuff, and it makes sense. You talk like one of Queen Natasha’s books.” Baz threw grass at his face. Simon giggled as he brushed it off. “I just don’t really like it. It’s not my thing. But I can appreciate that it’s your thing. So, cool.”

The corner Baz’s mouth quirked up. “Thank you. You’re quite understanding and compassionate, aren’t you?”

Simon’s chest felt swallowed up again. He shrugged up to his burning cheeks. “I don’t know. It’s just better to not judge until you have to, right?”

“Yes, that’s what most people strive for. But from what I’ve read, few people actually achieve that. But you do.”

Simon didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t used to compliments, especially from Baz. He looked at the ground, tracing patterns with his fingers, trying not to look at Baz’s long legs curled under him. “Uh,” he mumbled, “your turn to ask something. Unless that was your question before.”

Baz breathed out a laugh. “No, no, it wasn’t. Hm, let me see.” He started tracing the ground next to Simon’s hand. His patterns were more precise than Simon’s loopy swirls. “How about, what’s your happiest memory?”

“That’s a very personal question.”

“I think we’ve gotten pretty damn personal in our time together, Simon.”

Simon chuckled low in his throat. “Yeah, I guess so.” He sighed, wracking his brain for something that stood out. “Well, I guess...the day after my sixteenth birthday. My guardian made a...big deal out of my sixteenth birthday, because sixteen is a important apparently. Really it was excuse to show off to powerful people and shit. It wasn’t about me. But the day after, when all the big people were gone, he didn’t care. So I just spent the it all with my friends. We sat in my room together, talking and laughing all day. It was amazing. I started out hating being sixteen, I ended up liking it because of them. I-It’s simple I know, but it meant a lot to me.”

“No, I get it.” Simon looked up. Baz was nodding thoughtfully. “Birthdays should be spent with people who love you. Of course the one where you got that is special. I had that with Vera, before the curse. It’s been a long time, but I still remember.”

Simon’s curiosity got the better of him. He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows pulling together. “Baz, how old were you actually when you were cursed?”

The words spilled from his mouth before he truly considered their meaning. But when he saw the way Baz froze, how his lips tensed and his fists clenched, he felt his heart sink. Baz looked so pained. He was about to apologise, when Baz spoke first.

“I...I was about thirteen,” he whispered. “When I tried to escape.”

Thirteen years old, only thirteen years old. Growing up, but still a fucking child. Simon’s entire body felt like it was on fire. He wanted to find that cloaked arsehole and beat him into next week, then stab him, then burn him to a crisp. His fingers itched for his sword. He knew he was scowling deeply. He couldn’t help it.

“That bastard,” he growled. “You were a fucking kid.”

“Yeah,” Baz said evenly. “I know.”

“And now you’ve spent years, like this?! What an absolute piece of shit!” Simon slammed his fist on the ground, and it rumbled slightly. Both boys jolted away. Simon pulled his hand back. “Sorry. My magic, it gets...volatile when I’m angry.”

Baz shifted back towards him, body still facing him even while he looked at the ground. “It’s alright, I understand, the magic and the anger. Gods know how many years later, I’m still angry too, in a way.”

His phrasing threw Simon off. His bronze eyebrows furrowed together. “Wait, do you not know how long you’ve been cursed?”

Baz bit his bottom lip and dug his nails into his palm. If it were anyone else, Simon would assume he was on the verge of tears. “Honestly,” he said under his breath, “I don’t. I’ve sort of lost track of the years, what with being on my own and the days never changing. I’m not even sure how old I am.” His eyes flicked up. “You may actually be able to help me with that.”

Simon blinked rapidly and straightened his spine. “What? How?”

Baz reached both hands into his cotton shirt. Slowly, he pulled out his silver chain, the one Simon had seen on his swan form. Simon’s heart was pounding. He was so curious it made his nerves vibrate with anticipation.

“I’ve had this thing for as long as I can remember,” Baz said as he held it up the chain. “I think it has my birthday on the back, but I don’t know what the current year is. Maybe you could tell me if my hunch is right.”

He undid a small hook clasp, redid it, and handed the necklace to Simon. The other boy tried to will his hands to stop shaking. He examined the piece carefully. The chain was very fine, obviously crafted with extreme care. But what he focused on was the small pendant he’d never seen before. It was a silver half circle. On the front was a strange symbol, three stalks of wheat on a field. _Wow, boring,_ he thought. Simon flipped it around, and there was a date engraved on it, carved in loopy cursive. _February 24th, 997._

“Okay,” he said, nodding thoughtfully, “yeah, this is probably your birthday. You’re, uh, you’re my age, actually. Nineteen.”

“Hm,” Baz took the necklace back, rolling the chain between his fingers, “interesting. Only nineteen. Honestly, I thought I was older, but maybe that was me being arrogant.”

Simon giggled, relaxing back against the wall. “Yeah. definitely.”

“Fuck off.” Baz playfully pushed his shoulder. Simon snorted and pushed him back. It left his fingertips feeling electric.

Baz rehooked his necklace, then leaned back against the wall, fiddling with the pendant. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his mouth. He looked calm, relaxed. Simon liked him like this. He wished he got to see it more often. But Baz was a naturally closed off person. Which made sense, after six years of being alone.

“How did you survive on your own at thirteen?” Simon asked.

Baz sighed, voice filled with utter exasperation. “You’ve asked a lot of questions, Simon. It’s my turn.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” He opened his eyes halfway, irises like half moons. “Do you resent your guardian?”

Simon inhaled sharply. The question punched him in the gut, almost literally, really. He backed away slightly, leaning on his arms. He blinked at Baz. But the other boy wasn’t really reacting at all.

“What?!” Simon said. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because, he ignored you on your birthday and is now forcing you to marry for someone for his own benefit.” Baz opened his eyes all the way, and looked right into Simon’s. Simon felt completely unable to hide from Baz. “So do you resent him?”

Simon gulped, his Adam’s apple slowly bobbing up and down. He shifted uncomfortably. Baz’s gaze felt too scrutinizing, so he looked down, picking at his nail beds with shaky fingers.

“I-I don’t know,” he whispered. “I mean, I don’t like some stuff he does, but I don’t know if I resent him. He took me in...”

Baz sighed, long and heavy and very exasperated. “We’ve been over this.”

Simon groaned, pressing his back against the wall and rubbing his forehead with his eyes scrunched up. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s just...” He sighed and let his hand fall onto his knees. “I hated the orphanage and I love the friends I made at school. I probably never would’ve met _you_ if he hadn’t taken me in. But I don’t like the rules and the yelling and the disappointment no matter how hard I try.” Simon opened his eyes, looking out at the clear night sky. “So I don’t know, I’m...confused. It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not,” Baz said curtly, which made Simon turn his head. Baz didn’t look angry per se. He seemed more determined than anything. “It’s not stupid, Simon. You’re glad you got out of the orphanage and made friends, but now you’re under someone else’s control which is almost as bad. It’s just a different kind of bad.”

Simon instinctively opened his mouth to protest, but quickly realised he had no protests. His jaw slowly raised. “I...I think you’re right.”

Baz smirked and flicked a piece of his hair over his shoulder. “Of course I am.”

Simon snorted. He pushed at Baz’s arm. “Shut up.” Baz just chuckled and kept smirking. “Y’know, for someone who isn’t around people a lot, you’re pretty good at understanding them.”

Baz shrugged one shoulder. “Well, you’re not that hard to understand.” Simon shoved his arm again but a bit harder, only making Baz smirk more. “And I read. And I may not talk to people, but I see them a lot. You’d be surprised how many people have deep conversations around ponds and lakes. They don’t really care what a swan hears.”

Simon giggled, arm across his stomach. “Remind me to never spill my secrets around lakes.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for weeks now?”

“True enough,” Simon sighed, and Baz chuckled

Their eyes locked, plain blue and deep sea grey at perfect level. Simon’s heartbeat was out of control. His stomach felt like a storm. Yes, Simon had spilled his secrets, but not all of them. One he kept from Baz out of fear. But Baz would understand, right? Would he even care? Maybe he wouldn’t treat Simon any different. Maybe Simon  should be fully truthful, like Baz was being with him.

“Baz,” he said quietly. “I’m actually-”

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Baz’s face fell into sheer terror. All the blood drained from him in an instant. He looked out to the left. Simon followed, and saw an abnormally fast storm cloud in the distance. Baz rocketed to his feet.

“Get up,” he said. Simon stared at him numbly, and Baz scowled. “Get up, now!” he snapped. “And pick up the books and your bag!”

Simon did as he said, scrambling to pick up all his things. Baz was breathing hard as he looked out to the sky. “Take all your stuff, go into the cottage. Sit in the corner, do not make a sound, do not even move. Understand?”

“Baz, wha-”

Baz grabbed his shoulders with both hands. He looked back towards Simon, eyes wide and wild. Simon hadn’t seen him like this since the first night he was here.

“Simon,” he hissed, “if he sees you, he _will_ kill you. So just do as I say, _please.”_

He sounded so unbelievably desperate, so unbelievably scared, that all Simon could do was nod. Baz nodded once, then pushed him towards the cottage. Simon went in and Baz slammed the door behind him. Simon scurried into the corner, all his stuff held in his lap.

The thunder got closer, then became absolute silence.

Simon’s breathing was laboured. He tried to calm it down, tried to be as small and quiet as possible, even putting a hand over his mouth. His ear was close to the wall. He could hear them start to speak.

“Good evening, Basil,” the deep voice said. Simon almost forgot how stupid the cloaked man’s voice sounded.

“Good evening, sir,” Baz replied.

“It’s been awhile.”

“It has.”

“How have you been in these past couple months?”

“I’ve been fine.”

There was a pause, a rustling that sounded like footsteps. “Your hair has been cut.”

Simon’s breath hitched. His heart was beating so hard his ribs hurt. He was so scared for Baz. He’d never really truly believed in the gods, but Simon prayed anyway.

“I did it myself,” Baz said evenly, no hint of deception or worry. “It took forever to sharpen the stick to a knife’s edge.” There was another pause. The silence felt heavy. “I’m not going to use it on you. We’ve already established that I can’t kill you. Despite my intentions.”

“I know,” Cloaked Man said angrily. “You’re getting quite a mouth.”

Baz scoffed. “Apologies I’m not exactly pleasant to my captor.”

“I could make your life harder, Basil,” he growled.

“Oh really?! You can make my life of hellish pseudo-freedom and traumatically painful daily transformations even more miserable?! Either you’re extremely powerful or extremely fucking arrogant!”

There was a loud crack. Simon had to suppress a yelp. His stomach sank. He knew that sound far, far too well. Suddenly, he was transported back to when he was six, when he accidentally dropped his porridge bowl on the Matron’s feet. He still remembered the way her backhand felt across his cheek. The sting in his nerves, the ache in his jaw, the impression of her ring on his skin. If Baz hadn’t told him to stay still, Simon would run out there right now, to hug Baz or beat that man into a pulp. But he stayed, with a hand over his mouth and shaking.

“I told you, never speak to me like that!” The man roared. Baz didn’t respond. Another silence stretched out, every second making Simon’s panic heighten. “I simply came to see if you were still here. You are, and you seem to be fine. Good night, Basil.”

Baz didn’t respond. The thunder started again. Slowly, the sound faded into the distance. Simon waited until it was completely gone to finally stand up. He cautiously stepped forward and peeked out the window. There he saw Baz, sitting near the lake, legs obviously pulled up to his chin. One of the swans sat next to him. Baz was petting it’s head. His hand was shaking.

Simon stepped out of the cottage. He approached Baz like he was a deer in the woods. One wrong move could scare him off.

“Baz?” Simon said softly. “Are you...”

“I’m fine,” Baz replied, but his voice cracked near the end.

Simon came a bit closer and tilted his head to the side. Baz’s face was impassive, but Simon noticed the way his bottom lip was slightly shaking. “Baz, I’m sorry. I’m just, so sorry.”

Baz shifted, pulling his swan friend towards him. “You should go now. I won’t be much fun for the rest of the night.”

Simon took a step closer. “No, Baz, I-”

“Simon,” Baz hissed, whipping his head around. Simon inhaled sharply. Baz’s right cheek was bright red, and already showing signs of turning purple. He knew it would be there, yet Simon’s heart broke all the same.

Simon tried to step forward, hand outstretched. “Baz-”

“Just fucking go,” he muttered. Baz looked away again. He knew that look. The tense mouth, the trembling jaw, the glassy eyes, obviously holding everything together when everything was falling apart. Simon wanted to hold him, physically and metaphorically. But Baz didn’t seem to be in a holding mood.

Baz let out a long breath through his nose. “Please,” he whispered. “Just go. I...I need to be alone right now.”

Simon slowly started putting the books back in his rucksack. “Okay. If that’s what you really want.”

“It is.”

He nodded, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Okay. Bye, Baz.”

“Bye.”

Simon turned around, looking at Baz for as long as he could. He walked to the edge and unsheathed her sword. He took one last glance at Baz. Baz, smart, strong Baz, now curled up in on himself and shaking. How Simon wished he could stay with him. But Baz wanted him to go, and that was the best way Simon could help; listening to what Baz wanted. Letting him control something in his insane life.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Simon called out. “Okay? I’ll come back. I-I always will.”

Baz raised his in acknowledgement, then let it fall down. Simon hated how broken the other boy looked. He lingered for another long moment, and turned away, heart firmly lodged in his throat.

* * *

 

“And then, this guy had the audacity to tell me the pot was scuffed and he deserved a lower price!” Penny yelled, flinging her fork out and hitting Simon’s wall with a drop of vinaigrette. “The nerve of some people, honestly.”

“I hear you, Pen. Guy sounds like a grade A arsehole,” Simon chuckled, mouth filled with pork. He was thankful to have lunch in his own room rather than in the dining hall with David. The King didn’t approve of Simon’s incredibly poor manners.

Penny angrily stabbed her own meat. “I hate this job. I need to find another one.”

“Mhm, I get that.”

“Oh, and just yesterday, this woman came up.”

Penny launched into another story about a horrible customer. Simon did enjoy these stories, he really did. His mind was drifting somewhere else right now, though. He was wondering where a black swan was this time of day. If his bruised cheek had gotten worse or better in the days he hadn’t seen him. And if he was okay. Simon desperately wished he could go to see him, but David had a fight with an old lord two days ago and was now even more paranoid than normal, so he’d increased Simon’s guards. Sneaking out was even more difficult. He hoped to get out tonight or tomorrow. He wanted to see Baz, he needed to see-

“Simon? Si, you in there?”

Simon turned back to her, blinking her back into focus. She looked both concerned and confused. “Uh, yeah, Pen, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, Si?” Penny asked. “You seem...unfocused.”

“That’s pretty normal for me, Pen,” he chuckled, praying he could laugh off the tension. But he felt bad. He didn’t want to lie to Penny, especially since he hadn’t seen her in weeks. It had taken days of pleading with David to let her come to the castle for lunch. He’d convinced the king that she’d help Simon with his studies. Simon really just wanted to see his best friend after what happened.

But Penny wasn’t distracted that easily. She leaned forward and gave Simon a look over her spectacles. Damn, Simon couldn’t hide from her, not completely. He sighed, wringing his dirty napkin in his hands.

“It’s just,” he sighed, “something bad happened to someone I know. And I don’t know how to help them. I don’t know if I _can_ help them. But I want to do something.”

Penny’s brow furrowed. “Who? Is it Agatha? Is she okay?”

Simon shook his head. “No, no, it’s not Aggie, don’t worry. It’s someone you don’t know.”

“Someone I don’t know, huh? Have you met someone, Si?” She wiggled her eyebrows. Simon groaned. He’d picked such nosy fucking friends. He loved them, but still.

“It’s not like that,” he sighed. “We’re just friends. And they’re hurting, a lot. I don’t know what to do. But you might know since...”

“Since I helped you a lot.”

Simon nodded, almost melancholy. He knew how sad he could be. He had fallen into despair many times at school, over big memories and small things alike. Penny helped Simon through a lot of his sadness, but helping someone sad was different than being helped.

Penny sighed, leaning back in her chair with her hands in her lap. “Well, what I always tried to do was distract you. Remember when you failed that exam? We talked and played cards in your room all night. And when David yelled at you for damaging that wall? I got you to explore the Wavering Wood. I needed to get your mind off whatever happened. So, is there something you could do to get this person’s mind off whatever happened?”

Simon’s face twisted and pinched. There were lots of things Simon did with Baz. The questions, the sparring, the reading. But none of those felt like enough. They needed to do something different, something big and exciting and different enough to make Baz forget about the bruise on his face.

A loud sound caught Simon’s attention. He looked out his small window. The sound was coming from the town, a large colourful poll was being erected in the town square, so big Simon could see it from the castle. It was for the solstice celebration, of course, which was in a few days...

Simon grinned. “Yeah, I think there’s something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Over hearing abuse, describing past child abuse, backhand slap, bruised face.
> 
> Poor Baz :( That was hard to write. But I wanted to show just how horrible the Cloaked Man is and how powerless Baz is in his situation. I promise there are fun times to come though! Next chapter is more enjoyable. It'll be posting on Thursday, I'll see you guys then :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon go to a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this was delayed. I promise you it's worth the wait. It's super fun and there's awesome art by bookerella. Enjoy :)

“Baz!” Simon shouted as he jumped off the dirt wall. He nearly fell over as he hit the ground, what with two rucksacks on his back throwing him off balance. “Baz!”

“For goodness sake, Simon, I’m right here,” Baz called back. “I’m literally the only person here.” He was standing by the lake, just throwing on his shirt. Simon caught himself staring at a strip of reddish-gold skin on his lower back. His throat suddenly got very dry.

“Simon? Simon, are you there?” Baz was standing right in front of him, waving a hand in Simon’s face. His brow was adorably furrowed. It almost distracted from the large purple bruise on his upper cheek. Simon’s gut twisted very painfully. It just confirmed how much he needed to do this.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. His excitement returned in full force, a grin splitting across his face. “And I’ve got something exciting to tell you!”

Baz raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay okay, awesome.” Simon plopped down on the ground. Baz sat cross legged directly across from him. “So, Watford doesn’t have a lot of holidays, but we have this big one, the solstice festival. It’s this enormous party celebrating the end of the long nights and the start of the longer days. Everyone gets together and just has a great time. The biggest solstice festival is in Watford Town. And it’s tomorrow.”

“Sounds wonderful," he deadpans. "Why are you telling me about it? Is this an impromptu history lesson?”

Simon took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what reaction Baz would have, but he knew it would be something he needed to prepare for. “No. I’m saying...that _we_ should go. Both of us. We should go to the festival together.”

Simon saw many emotions pass over Baz’s face. The initial confusion as he processed Simon’s words, the quick bolt of shock as he understood their meaning, followed by splash of fear, and ending with straight up utter panic.

“No!” Baz yelled frantically, scrambling away from Simon. “No! Absolutely not! No fucking way!”

Simon inched forward a bit, but Baz backed away even more. “Baz, just listen-”

Baz stood up and kept his back to Simon, arms crossed over his chest. “I will _not_ listen, because this is crazy.”

“I mean, is it though?”

“Yes!” Baz turned his head, letting Simon see a corner of his glare. “Have you forgotten my situation, Simon? I’m a prisoner, a cursed prisoner, who is meant to stay in this lake!

“But...you fly out of here as a swan...”

“That’s different! I’m supposed to stay here when I’m _human._  No one is supposed to see me. Especially not hundreds of people at a bloody festival!”

Simon stood up, nervously fiddling with the hem of his tunic. “Well, no one would _actually_ see you.”

Baz narrowed his gaze even more. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“People dress up for the festival. Everyone wears a pretty costume and a mask. No one sees your face.”

Baz turned his body halfway around, but his arms were still crossed. “Are they actually effective at hiding your identity?”

“Well, I think they do. Look at this.” Simon rummaged in his bag and pulled out the mask he bought for himself. He hadn’t been able to resist it while scoping out the market, honestly. It was a bright red dragon’s face with a long snout. The front was decorated with small, glittery crystals. Gold mesh and red fabric lined the edge that looked like flames. Four golden horns curled out from the top. Simon saw it yesterday and it was just too gorgeous not to buy. And from Baz’s wide eyes, he liked it too.

Simon held it in front of his face, not bothering with the stupid ribbon on the back. “See? Can barely tell it’s me, right?”

Baz turned all the way. He still didn’t look fully convinced though. His eyes flicked upward. “I can still see your hair, and it’s...distinctive.” Simon swore there was some colour on Baz’s cheeks, but his complexion and bruise obscured it. “Mine is too. What if the man sees my hair? I don’t know if he lives in town or not.”

Simon pulled a piece of thick red fabric from his bag and threw it on his head. He knew it looked silly but that wasn't the point right now. “You can wear a headscarf, like this. I do it all the time when I go into town.”

“Why?”

Simon inhaled sharply. _Shit,_ he thought. He was glad Baz couldn’t see his entire face right now. That fleeting confidence he’d had about revealing his royalty a few nights ago was definitely gone by now. “Uh, people stare at my hair. Like you said, it’s distinctive. I find it annoying, so, scarf.”

Baz's resolve cracked, eyes softening and arms lowering slightly. But he still didn’t look fully convinced. “This is still really risky. If he sees me out of the lake, he would most likely kill me. Or worse, he might kill you.”

The breath left Simon’s lungs for a moment. He didn’t know how to interpret that. Was Baz just horrified at the idea of someone else dying because of him? Or Simon in particular dying? It was too confusing. He didn’t want to think it through.

Simon took a step forward, letting the mask fall from his face, figuratively and literally. He tried to look at Baz as sympathetically as possible.

“Baz,” he said softly, “I definitely get why you’re scared. He’s a scary man. But...I think it would be worth it to get out there instead of being cooped up here like a hermit.”

“It’s not like that’s my choice,” Baz hissed.

Simon raised his hands in deference. “I-I know, Baz, of course I know that. I’m not blaming you, it’s obviously not your fault. I’m just saying, it might be a good idea to get out of here for one night. You may still be stuck with your curse for now, but you’re human at heart, and you need to be around other humans.”

The other boy looked down, frowning slightly, digging his bare toe into the ground. “I’m around _you_ a lot.”

That made something warm pool in Simon’s stomach. It sounded dangerously close to a compliment. Simon couldn’t be sure. But that wasn’t what was important right now. He took another few steps forward. Baz didn’t step back.

“Yeah, you are, but I’m only one human. When we break you’re curse, you’re going to have to be around other people. So, this can be a trial run for when you’re free.” Baz bit his lip at the last word. Simon couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or fear. “Plus, it’ll be really fun. Lots of singing, dancing, nice food. I promise, we’ll have a great time.”

Baz chuckled. “I’d have to trust you on that, I’ve never been to a party.”

“And you should get to go to one, stupid curse or not.” The boys were standing very close. Close enough that Simon could put a hand on Baz’s shoulder, and Baz flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “Honestly though? I really just think you should do something fun. It might distract you from...other stuff.”

Simon looked at Baz’s purple cheek. Baz’s hand instinctively hovered over it, then let it drop fast, looking somewhere between angry and embarrassed. Simon wanted so badly to take his pain away. He wasn’t sure if a festival could do that, but he could at least try.

“What if he comes to check on me?” Baz asked quietly.

“You said he only comes every few weeks or months,” Simon replied, “so he won’t be back for awhile.”

Baz nodded. “What about the sunrise?”

“It’s the longest night of the year. You won’t have to worry about the sunrise for awhile.”

“What if he spots me?”

“We’ll run very, very fast.”

That made Baz smile, ever so slightly. But his face quickly fell again. He reached up to touch his bruise again, fingertips barely touching the area. “What about...this? Would a mask help?”

Simon grinned. He was very proud of this part. He reached into his second bag, and pulled out the second mask he bought. “Yeah, I think it would.”

Baz cautiously took the mask. It was elegant, which was what caught Simon’s attention. The base was made of ebony with painted accents. The forehead was mostly black, with sprays of silver coming out from the edges to spread across the mask’s surface until only the nose was bare, making a sort of half hourglass pattern. Simon thought it looked like bursts of moonlight on a night sky. The mask covered the forehead and cheeks, but left the mouth visible. It was beautiful, and would certainly work for Baz.

“See?” Simon said. “That will hide it for sure.”

Baz tilted it back and forth, examining it with his careful, analytical gaze. He traced the silver lattice pattern lining the eye holes with a single finger. Simon couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His mouth twisted and changed, like words wanted to burst out but he kept them back. Simon’s nerves mounted with every passing second. He wanted Baz to want this, he wanted Baz to have some fun, he wanted to show Baz the world they were working towards getting him into.

“Do you have a costume for me too?” he asked. “Because none of my clothes are will probably be sufficiently flashy.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Simon offered his second rucksack, the top already opened. Baz looked inside. His eyes widened for a moment, then he gave Simon a deadpan look.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he said.

Simon shrugged, mouth pulled in a sheepish smile. “I’ve been told I can be.”

Baz closed the rucksack. He looked at Simon with a soft expression. And he sighed. “Alright, I’ll go to the festival with you.”

A fire exploded in Simon’s heart. Excitement rushed through his veins. He jumped up and down and clapped like an excited school child. “Amazing! Awesome! We’re gonna have so much fun!”

“I do hope so.” Baz carefully put the bag down. “We’re risking our lives for it.”

Simon was about to rebut or apologize, but Baz swiftly picked up his stick-sword and pointed it at Simon’s face. He had an annoyingly smug smirk on his face.

“Now, enough about costumes and parties,” he drawled with smug confidence. “I’ve been looking forward to beating you for days.”

Simon’s competitiveness, the kind he only really felt with Baz, raged back in full force. He threw aside his bag and swiftly picked up his own stick. He took his fighting stance, smirking as well.

“Well then,” he said, “en garde.”

* * *

 

Sneaking out of the palace in common clothes was hard enough as it was. But climbing out a window in a tight costume jacket and pants. He didn’t want to be spotted by the guards or a passerby either, and the bright red peeking out from his cloak didn’t help. Simon did it anyway, repelling down the wall slowly as to not rip his trousers, keeping his brown cloak close around him, using his wand a bit to clear a path in the Forbidden Lands. (Though he ended up destroying a few trees.)

But he did it, he managed to get through. And soon enough, he was poorly cushioning his fall into Baz’s lake. He hit the dirt with a hard thump.

“Ow,” he groaned.

“You really do suck at magic,” Baz chuckled. Simon looked up.

Then the whole world seemed to freeze.

Baz was beautiful, Simon knew that. It was an objective fact. Elegant face, perfect hair, incredible eyes. Beautiful, no question. But right now, he was...he was so much more. Tonight, he was goddamn majestic.

Simon’s eyes scanned upward. The black boots and leather riding pants perfectly stretched over Baz’s toned calves and powerful thighs. His double breasted jacket showed off his lean figure without making him look thin. Simon could see the outline of his strong arms through the long sleeves. It was black too of course, woven with feather patterns made from stunning silver thread. A matching silver scarf was draped loosely around his long neck. His hair was slicked back, showing off his pretty smirking face. Though Simon really did prefer it loose. Oh well. He couldn’t get everything he wanted. But Baz was smiling so wide that Simon barely noticed his bruise. So he was pretty damn happy.

“You want to get up, Simon?” Baz asked with amusement.

Simon was shocked out of his daze. He huffed and offered his hand. “Yeah. Help me up.”

Baz hoisted Simon to his feet. Simon’s wool cloak fell with him. Baz’s hand dropped, and his eyes went wide.

“Huh,” he whispered. “That’s...quite the outfit.”

Simon looked down at himself. He didn’t know whether it was a compliment or not. He thought he looked okay. His scarlet jacket was longer than Baz’s, reaching to his calves instead of the middle of his knees. And it only had one set of gold buttons instead of two sets made of silver. The tails were decorated with orange and gold so it looked like fire spilling down his back. Fire was a theme with this outfit. His red trousers even had gold flames stitched on the sides. Sure, it all looked sort of ridiculous, but everyone at the festival looked ridiculous. And not everyone could look as incredible as Baz.

“Does it look bad?” Simon asked meekly.

Baz shook his head. “Certainly not.” He reached out to fix the collar of Simon’s white shirt, flattening it down against his coat. “You look like a very nice fairy tale creature.”

Simon’s stomach and chest felt very, very hot. He wasn't used to compliments, and the feeling of one just washed over him in a very pleasant way. He grinned at Baz. “Thanks.”

Baz held his arms out and gave a little spin, coat tails waving in the slight wind. “How do I look?”

“Incredible,” Simon blurted out. He felt his cheeks heat up and looked at the ground. “You, you look good. You’re practically made for fancy clothes, I think.”

Baz bowed deeply, arms on his stomach and back, hair nearly brushing the ground. “Well, thank you, good sir.”

Simon giggled with a hand over his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So is this outfit, but I’m not complaining.” He started walking forwards, mask swinging from his fingertips. “Come along then, I want to see this wonderful festival.”

Simon nodded and followed along. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They walked to the wall. Baz looked up at with a tense mouth and worried eyes. Simon knew he was scared. He hadn’t been out of this lake as a human for fourteen years. Of course he’d be scared. But Simon didn’t want him to be. So, being the brave idiot he knew he was, Simon reached out brushed the back of his hand against Baz’s. A small gesture, but the sensation of Baz’s skin on his radiated through Simon’s entire being anyways. Baz flinched, but only slightly.

“Don’t worry,” Simon said softly. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll be fine.”

“I bloody hope so,” Baz replied under his breath.

Simon took a deep breath, and fully grabbed Baz’s hand. Their calluses scraped against each other. Baz didn’t flinch at all. Simon somehow felt tense and happy all at once. Like a storm made of sunlight. “Let’s go.”

Simon, despite being quite strong, was not strong enough to hoist both Baz and himself up over the wall by sword. He didn’t even have his sword tonight  anyway. So he had to magically lift up both of them and over, something he had not been looking forward to. It was a relatively simple spell but magic was never simple for Simon. He reached into his coat and pulled out his wand. The damn thing rarely worked, but it was slightly safer than just wishing for something to happen and hoping it worked. He held it up high.

**_“Up and out!”_ **He shouted. Nothing happened. Baz made a confused noise. Simon groaned and shook the stupid stick. “Come on, please.”

He squeezed his eyes and thought very, very hard about how much he wanted to get both of them out of here. Then their feet were off the ground. Baz gasped and held Simon's hand tighter. Simon cautiously opened his eyes. They were at least three feet off the ground, rising slowly, the lake disappearing below. Baz’s other hand gripped his bicep.

“Amazing,” he whispered.

Simon’s heart swelled with pride. He grinned and leaned closer to Baz. And that little thought was all it took for Simon’s concentration to break.

They rocketed upwards out of the the lake, so fast and high they hit a tree branch. Simon’s shoulder hit it very painfully. But falling and crashing into the forest floor hurt far, far worse. They both hit with a resounding thud, leaves falling around them.

“Less amazing,” Baz grumbled.

“Sorry,” Simon said as he sat up, rubbing his shoulder. Luckily, their costumes were still okay, just a few leaves they needed to brush off. Simon stood up and slipped his wand back into his jacket. Baz stood as well and shook the dirt out of his hair.

“Well,” Baz sighed. “It wasn’t dignified but at least it was effective. We’re out.”

Simon smiled sheepishly. “Yeah that’s true.”

Baz tilted his head up and looked around. It obviously wasn’t the first time he’d seen outside the lake, but it was the first time he’d seen it as a human. Maybe the world looked different through the eyes of a swan. Simon hoped Baz liked it through the eyes of a human too.

Baz held out his mask to Simon. “Can you help me put this on now? The ribbons are annoying as shit to do on your own.”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, yeah of course, turn around.”

Baz did, longish hair facing Simon. Luckily there was still a bit of twilight, so Simon could mostly see what he was doing. With shaky fingers, he fitted the mask over Baz’s face and tied the ribbon in a slightly messy bow. Baz turned back around and simultaneously threw on his silver scarf. It was strange. Simon knew it was Baz, of course, but the mask and scarf made him almost unrecognizable. He looked less like the Baz he knew and more like a mysterious gentleman, with a face like the night sky and hair made of moonlight.

“Good?” Baz asked with a smirk.

Simon swallows down his dry throat. He reached forward and tucked a stray black hair under his scarf. _The silver goes with his eyes,_ he thought to himself. Baz smiled almost shyly.

“There, perfect,” Simon said. He offered his own mask. “Do up mine?”

Baz nodded. Simon turned. The dragon mask fit perfectly over his face. Baz easily tied the ribbon with deft fingers. Simon threw on his own scarf and turned on his heels with flourish. He held his arms out dramatically.

“Good?” He echoed.

Baz grinned, and it shined far more than the silver in his outfit. “Stunning.”

Simon’s heart swelled. He was filled with excitement beyond words. He offered his hand, and Baz took it. “Let’s go.”

And they ran off together into the darkness but towards the distant light.

* * *

 

In the most accurate summary, the solstice festival was fucking insane.

Simon hadn’t been to one since he was 15 when he, Agatha, and Penny had snuck out of School to go. And he’d forgotten how crazy it all was. It seemed everyone was out to party tonight. Houses were covered in shining cloths. Torches had multicolored magical fire, decorating the walls in rainbow shades. Streamers flew off everything from balconies to people’s arms. The air itself felt electric with the laughter and music. The narrow streets of Watford Town were packed tight with cheering costumed citizens. He and Baz were bumped around so much it made Simon dizzy.

Baz had a death grip on his hand. Simon glanced back, and Baz looked absolutely terrified. He was pulled in on himself and his eyes were darting around. Someone bumped him particularly hard and he jumped. This wouldn’t do.

Simon directed them towards a small alleyway. It was mostly empty, save for two women in such a passionate embrace they barely noticed anyone else. Simon looked away from them with slightly reddened cheeks. Baz was visibly shaken. His lips were trembling slightly.

“You okay?” Simon asked, having to yell over the noise. “We can go if you want.”

Baz shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m just not used to this many people and this much noise up close. Seeing from above is different from being in the middle of it. It’s...very odd.”

Simon squeezed his hand. “You sure want to stay?”

A smile quirked up on his mouth. “Definitely. I think this looks fun, in spite of the crowds.”

Simon nodded and pulled them towards the exit. “Then let’s get out of here.”

They went back into the fray. It was still loud and insane, but Baz wasn’t holding his hand as tightly.

Just as the two turned a corner, a lady in a magnificent mermaid outfit approached them. She got very close in their faces. Baz tensed for a moment, but quickly relaxed. Simon felt relieved.

“Want some mini scones?” she yelled

Simon looked back at Baz. Baz shrugged. Simon turned back to her. “Sure,” he said.

The woman offered her tray, and Simon plucked two pastries. He handed one to Baz, then tapped them together. Even from behind the mask, Simon could tell Baz’s brow had furrowed.

“Cheers,” Simon said. “Happy festival, Baz.”

Baz’s mouth pulled up into a half smile. “Happy festival, Simon.”

They popped the small treats in their mouths. Simon beamed instantly. It was a sour cherry scone. They weren’t as good as Cook Pritchard’s, of course, but sour cherry scones were still sour cherry scones. Baz made a strange face. It wasn’t exactly a frown, but it wasn’t a smile either. He looked confused more than anything.

“What do you think?” Simon asked.

“Better than lake plants and worms,” Baz said. Simon chuckled, shaking his head. “It really is good though, I like it.”

Simon grinned, his heart fluttering. It was probably weird to feel flattered by someone liking your favourite pastry, but Simon didn’t think too much about that. He just let himself be happy.

“Good. Wanna try some other foods? There’s lots here.”

Baz nodded eagerly. “Absolutely.”

Simon took Baz down towards the shop alley. The stalls were decorated in every colour imaginable. Merchants were yelling, hawking their food and wares. Simon pulled them through it, scanning over the tables for something good. He stopped at a glittery stall with a man wearing a vibrant blue mask. Simon asked two mince pie slices. Baz took a small bite, then greedily shoved the rest in his mouth. Simon chuckled while Baz glared at him.

“Shut up, I’m hungry,” he grumbled.

As they left, Simon quietly paid the man. He didn’t want Baz to know how much coin he had in his inner coat pocket, courtesy of not using his allowance for three months.

They weaved their way to another place with fish cakes, then another with caramel drizzled apple slices, then even one with roast beef bites. Baz ate them all and more. Simon thought _he_ was ravenous, but Baz was a sinkhole where no food could survive. Being a swan who had to eat worms did that to you, Simon guessed.

“Oh goodness,” Baz groaned quietly. “It tastes so good.”

“Never had food like this before? Not even with Vera?” Simon asked.

Baz shook his head vigorously. “Definitely not. We always got very bland foods to cook with. Mint pie was the closest we had to something good.”

Simon’s heart felt warm. He was so happy that Baz was happy. It was a unique kind of joy that Simon had only felt with his friends, but never this intensely before. Never like it would burn him from the inside out until he was blissful dust.

He didn’t know how to say all that casually to Baz though. So Simon just kept holding his hand and gave him another slice of toasted sweet bread.

After sampling a feast’s worth of flavours, they moved further into the market, where there were more wares instead of food. Baz examined the glittering glassware and fine metalwork. He traced a glass bowl swirling with dark blue and bright red. It was obviously shaped by magic. Baz was quite fascinated. Simon was about to offer to buy it, when a familiar voice cut through the bustling crowd.

“Si? Is that you?”

Simon whipped around. Right behind them, past a very drunk couple dressed as horses, was a kitchenware stand with a girl wearing a feathered purple mask and matching cape. Simon grinned. “Hey, Penny!” he shouted, pulling him and Baz towards her.

“What the hell are you doing out tonight?” She asked. “Thought David didn’t want you out.”

“Since when has that stopped me?” Simon chuckled, trying to hide his nerves. He was so scared Penny would let something about his royal status slip. He could only hope and prayed his princehood wouldn’t come up.

Penny scoffed. “Okay, true.” Her eyes flicked over to Baz. “Who’s this?”

Simon’s heart seized, and Baz’s hand was like a vice on his. They both knew they were thinking the same thing. Anyone could be the cloaked man. What if Penny accidentally said Baz’s name to him? It wouldn’t be her fault, but it was a risk they couldn’t take.

“Uh,” Simon said, “this is my new friend. His name is...Kaz.”

There was a brief silence (as silent as a bustling festival could get.) Baz gave Simon a deadpan look through his mask. Penny was just severely confused.

“Kaz,” she said it slowly, testing the sound in her mouth.

“Y-Yeah,” Simon replied. “He’s from...out of town. Just moved here recently.”

“Is he who you were talking about before?”

Baz’s grip somehow got even tighter. Simon’s nervousness was at its peak. “M-hm. And I think I’m helping. Right, Kaz?”

Baz gave him an odd look, but mumbled, “sure,” anyway.

Simon nodded. Penny still looked confused and bit doubtful. “Um, Kaz, this is Penelope. She’s my good friend.”

Baz, though obviously very nervous, offered his own hand. “Hi, Simon’s friend Penelope,” he said stiffly, voice similar to how it was when he first met Simon.

Penny very cautiously took it. They shook slowly. “Hi...Kaz. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They’re hands fell awkwardly. Baz shifted closer to Simon. Penny still looked at both of them doubtfully.

“So how are sales?” Simon asked very, very quickly.

Penny sighed. She stopped looking so doubtful. Getting Penny to complain about her job was the best way to distract her. “They’re alright. People aren’t really interested in cookware during a festival, annoying drunk bastards. But it’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it. You going to be off anytime soon?”

“No, I’m working all night.”

Simon frowned. “Aw, that sucks. We’d all have fun together!” He meant that. No matter how scared he was about his royalty being revealed, he really wanted was to have fun with his friend.

Penny gave a lopsided smile and reached out to pat Simon’s free hand. “It’s fine, Si. You and Kaz go have fun. I’ll see you next time you sneak out, alright?”

He gripped her hand for a moment. “Okay. See you later, Pen.”

“See you, Si! Uh, see you, Kaz.” She waved them both off. Simon waved back with his whole arm, but Baz just moved his hand slightly. He nudged Simon forward, and Simon was happy to comply.

The two went back into the crowd. Baz was still hanging on to Simon’s hand, like he had almost all night, but his grip felt a bit looser.

“Did you tell her about me? About my...problem?” he asked, seemingly pissed off but also maybe a little scared.

Simon immediately shook his head. “No! No, of course not. I just told her I had a friend who was sad and needed to be cheered up. She suggested the festival.”

“And she doesn’t know anything else?”

“No. I mean, I’ve asked her about curses a few times because she’s smart, and borrowed some books from her, but she doesn’t know it’s about you. She thinks my guardian is testing me on magic history.”

Baz still looked a bit doubtful, but nodded. “Alright. I suppose that makes sense.” His eyes slid over to Simon, fixing him with a cold grey stare. “What did she mean about sneaking out though?”

Simon inhaled through his nose. His heart seized like it had the many times he had gotten close to telling Baz. But not right now. He didn’t want to fight with him tonight, when Baz was supposed to be having the night of his life. So Simon just leaned a bit closer so he didn’t have to yell.

“My guardian's super strict,” he said. “He doesn’t like me going out a lot. He gets really mad when I do.”

Baz raised one brow, or at least Simon assumed he did from the way his muscles moved, what with the mask in the way. “Then how do you see me almost every night?”

Simon grinned as brightly as he could. “Well, I have to sneak out my window, actually. It’s risky, but,” he tugged on Baz’s hand, making the other boy stumble just a bit closer, “I think it’s worth it.”

Baz’s face relaxed, and Simon let a sigh of relief. Baz squeezed his hand once. “Good to know.”

They wandered around the market for a little longer. Baz spent an exorbitant amount of time at a book stand. Simon had to remind him that their time was longer than usual but still limited. Baz pouted but moved on. They ate some more food, Simon discreetly paying for each, and moved closer and closer to the main town square. Just as they were about to reach it, a man crossed their path. He was wearing a cloak made of peacock feathers, and just like the mermaid lady, he had a tray balanced on his hand. But instead of scone bites, it held tiny wooden glasses.

“Spirits to get you into the solstice spirit!” He yelled extremely cheerfully. “Free sample!”

Simon was taken aback, literally and figuratively. He looked at Baz in silent question. Baz nodded, then Simon turned back to the man.

“We’ll each take one,” Simon said. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. Happy festival!” He handed Simon two cups. Baz nodded at the man, movement a little less awkward than his movements before.

The peacock man moved on into the fray. Baz brought his nose to his cup, took a sniff, then reeled back, mouth twisted in disgust. “Good Gods, it smells horrific! What is this?”

Simon looked in his cup. The liquid was clear, and it smelled like the disinfectant you used on cuts. Simon knew exactly what it was. “It’s northern spirits. They make it from grain up there. It smells terrible and tastes even worse from what I’ve heard.”

“Then why on Earth would anyone drink it?!”

Simon shrugged. “It makes you loopy and relax, I guess. People make a big fuss about it.”

Baz looked at the drink suspiciously. He flicked his eyes to Simon. “I’ll drink it if you do?”

Simon smiled. He lightly tapped his cup against Baz’s. “Cheers, Baz.”

His face relaxed, and he raised his own cup slightly. “Cheers, Simon.”

And they both drank. But the second the spirit passed their lips though, both their eyes went wide. Simon immediately knew what he heard was correct, it did taste worse than it smelled. Baz pulled the cup away and coughed, hand pressed to his chest. Simon wasn’t much better, hand over his mouth. Barely a sip and his throat was on fire.

“Dear Gods,” Baz coughed, “it’s vile!”

“Agreed,” Simon strangled out.

“At least we know all the fuss is about. And that’s it stupid.”

Simon chuckled. “Definitely.” He looked down at his still full cup. “Wow, barely took a sip and I’m dying.”

Baz looked down at his as well. “Same here. And I’m not taking another one.” He poured the clear liquid on the ground with no shame, then left the wooden cup on a window sill. Simon did the same. It was the solstice festival, things were supposed to be crazy. Leaving a tiny cup on a window was probably the most normal thing that would happen tonight.

"Can we please find something better than this awful drink?" Baz asked almost pathetically.

Simon grinned. He grabbed Baz’s hand again and pulled him forward. “Come and see.”

They shoved past the crowds, and ended up exactly where Simon wanted to be. He heard Baz gasp. And it was a well earned gasp.

The town square was usually bustling, but it was nothing compared tonight. Possibly hundreds of people were all gathered in the space. All cheering, jumping and dancing. A band on a riser was playing an upbeat tune. At the centre was the large wooden pole. Streamers flowed from the top, latching on to the surrounding houses to create a canopy of wondrous colours. Magically made tiny balls of light weaved around the fabric strands. It felt like they were transported to another world. And Simon knew part of him never wanted to leave.

“Wow,” Baz whispered, “incredible.”

“Yeah,” Simon replied. “Told you, best party in the whole kingdom.”

“I can believe that. Though this isn’t really showing me normal non-cursed human life, is it?”

Simon chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I guess not. But I’m showing you something fun, right?”

Baz’s mouth quirked up. “Yes, you definitely are.”

Simon's pulse somehow got even faster. That was all he wanted, for Baz to have fun. He looked out towards the square. An idea that entered his head, and Simon was impulsive to say the least. So he pulled Baz forward. Baz followed, until they ended up right next to the dancing circle.

“Simon, what-” Baz was cut off as Simon pulled them both into the circle. The other costumed patrons immediately accepted them, grabbing their free hands, and they were suddenly dancing. Simon struggled for a moment. He didn’t know the dance but it wasn’t that hard. You took five steps to the right, then ten to the left, crossing your feet over each other, then throw your arms in the air with a cheer. It was a group effort, a beautiful pattern of small parts making something so big together. Something Simon was part of. Simon looked over to Baz. The other boy was still struggling somewhat, but there was a big smile on his face. He laughed with no hesitation, no worry, and Simon felt like his soul was on fire.

The song changed, and the strangers were suddenly letting go of their hands. Simon watched as they quickly paired off and danced together. Baz turned to him.

“Are we supposed to dance with each other now?” he asked with a lot of hesitation.

Simon chewed the corner of his lip and shuffled his feet. “Do you want to?”

Baz tapped his fingers on his upper thigh, other hand still loosely holding Simon’s. “I don’t really know how...”

“Oh, right. Do, uh, do you...want me to show you?”

Baz looked down at the ground, but he pressed their hands closer. “If you can...”

Simon’s cheeks were flaming. He wasn’t sure he could, but he wanted to try for Baz. He tugged Baz closer, and the other boy stumbled again. “I’ll certainly try.”

Baz nodded slightly. Simon took a deep breath. He tried to recall all that damn ball training David put him through. “Okay,” he said slowly, “first, um, we hold our arms out. Together.” Simon stretched out their arms, slightly bent at the elbow, fingers weaved together. “Then...I think you...hold my waist with your other arm.” Baz did so without hesitation. His hand was on the small of Simon’s back, touch firm and strong. Simon gulped. “Yeah, like that. And I, I actually don’t know what to do with my arm.”

“Maybe put it on my shoulder?”

Simon nodded. “Y-Yeah, that would work.”

Very slowly, Simon put his hand on Baz’s shoulder. It was like any other shoulder, of course. Firm, strong, made of muscles and sinew and blood. Yet somehow it felt like so, so much more.

“Now what?” Baz asked.

“Uh, now, we move in a sort of box formation. You go back, then right, then forward, then left, then we do the whole thing again. Does that make sense?”

Baz nodded once. “Yes, I think so. But hearing is a lot different than doing.”

Simon squeezed his hand in an attempt in reassurance. “It’s okay. We’ll go slow. And you can look at my feet, alright?”

Baz looked down, but squeezed back. “Alright. Let’s try.”

Simon took a deep breath, looked down, then stepped forward. Baz followed. It was simple. At least, doing it once was simple. And they were both still very stiff. They stepped again to the side, but each went in a different direction, tripping over each other’s feet.

“Right!” Simon said. “We go right!”

“I did go right,” Baz replied, frowning at Simon.

_“My_ right, Baz.”

Baz groaned. “So picky.”

Simon hated his smug little smirk. He stuck his tongue. Baz chuckled, and they picked up the dance again. They went to Simon’s right, then backwards, then Simon’s left, all with little problem. With only a couple missteps, they found the rhythm, tuned into the music and each other. One two three four, one two three four, over and over, stepping and spinning into the colourful night. The boys moved like one being, soaring across the cobblestone together. A spell was over them, it seemed. Where rainbow lights decorated the sky and their feet were dancing on air.

Soon, Simon felt confident enough to look up, and to his utter but pleasant shock, Baz was looking up too. Their eyes met. Simon almost lost focus, losing himself in Baz’s criminally beautiful gaze. Baz’s mouth fell open slightly, then pulled into a soft smile. Simon smiled back, and they kept soaring across the ground.

* * *

 

“Gods,” Baz chuckled as he fell on to the bench. “I can’t feel my feet.”

“Me neither,” Simon giggled as well, sitting next to him. The bench was just on the edge of town, far enough away from the loud music and cheering to let them collect their heads. They had danced for what felt like an eternity, with each other and with the group. It was heady, incredible, almost felt like a dream. Simon was still giddy from it. And from the look on his face, Baz was too.

Baz sighed, leaning back on the bench. “So, that’s what a party is like.”

Simon leaned back as well, head tilted over the back. “Well, not every party, but yeah, that one is pretty insane.”

“You been to other parties?”

Simon tensed for a moment, but quickly found what to say. “Yeah, a few. My guardian likes me to go, for status and all. I hate them usually.”

“Hm, understandable. I’ve always wondered what they were like since that one years ago.”

“Wait, have you seen a party before? Which one?”

Baz’s face suddenly fell. He shifted uncomfortably, gripping his trouser material. Simon was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to say that. “Damn mask,” he grumbled. “It’s too hot.”

He pulled down his scarf and ripped off his mask. He let out a long breath, eyes closed. Simon found Baz’s full face a welcome sight. He liked looking at Baz. It was nice to see him again, even with that big bruise still on his cheek.

Simon took off his own mask, placing it in his lap. He ran his fingers over the the mesh and tiny gems. He’d have to hide this from David, but he was going to keep it no matter what.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Simon said quietly. “But whatever happened, I won’t judge you, I promise.”

Baz cracked open one eye. He scanned Simon over once, then sighed. He looked forward, arms crossed over his chest.

“It was ages ago,” Baz said. “One night, I was flying over the town with the other swans. I heard lots of cheering from below, like the sounds tonight. People were milling about and all. It looked and sounded fun, but my bird senses didn’t like the noise though. So, I went back to the lake, for the first time in awhile...”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “Wait, I thought you had to be on the lake to be human again.”

Baz’s mouth tensed for a moment. His fists clenched. “Remember...when I said I didn’t understand the curse at first? I didn’t get it for quite awhile. So I was...stuck as a swan for some time. I don’t know how long, the days became a bit of a blur. That’s when I lost track of my age.” Simon inhaled sharply. He struggled to not get up and punch a tree until it was splinter. “But that night, when I landed on the lake, I finally became human again. I was a lot taller than what I remembered, so I know it had been awhile. I looked up towards the party sounds in the distance, and there were these bursts of light in the sky. Just, huge flashes of purple and green. The childish part of me wondered if they were celebrating me being human again. Stupid, I know, but I was- well, who knows how old, but still young.”

“You were sixteen,” Simon blurted out. “You...you would’ve been sixteen around then.”

Baz looked at Simon curiously. “How do you know that?”

Simon looked very pointedly at his lap. “Because I know what party that was. It was all over town. I was sixteen when it happened, so you would’ve been sixteen too.”

“Hm, at least I know now.”

He fiddled with his trousers with shaky fingers. Of course Simon knew that party. He’d hated it. It was his own horrible sixteenth birthday ball, where he had to schmooze nobles instead of being with his friends. David had also declared the day a town wide celebration. It hadn’t been as big as the solstice festival but it had been big enough. David had ended the night by having some mages set off magical fireworks from their wands. Simon remembered loving the way they lit up the night sky. It was the only good part of that dreadfully boring night. And while Simon had been enjoying pretty lights on his birthday, Baz had just regained his humanity after years of being stuck as a swan.

“Three years,” Simon growled. “You were stuck as a swan for three fucking years.”

Baz looked at him with that familiar sad smile. “So it seems.”

Simon turned to face Baz, looking determined as possible. “But it won’t happen again. I’m going to break your curse, Baz. You’re never going to be stuck or trapped and you can go to as many parties you want. I promise, okay?”

Baz was trying his best to look blank, but Simon saw the way his bottom lip quivered. “It’s fine, Simon. It was years ago.”

“Stop.” Baz’s brow pulled together. Simon scooted closer. He put a hand over his Baz’s, and Baz didn’t flinch at all. “Stop pretending you’re alright. It was horrific, what you’re going through _is_ horrific. So it’s...it’s okay that you’re not. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.”

Baz’s mouth fell open slightly. His eyes were impossibly wide. He looked down at Simon’s hand over his. He flipped his over, weaving their fingers together. Baz’s calluses pressed into Simon’s skin. It felt so good.

“You’re right. I’m not okay,” he said quietly, voice breaking a bit. Simon knew how hard it was for him to say it. “But, I’m better when you’re around.”

Simon’s breath was suddenly short, like it had been a lot tonight. Baz looked up again, but his eyes weren’t on Simon’s. Rather, they were focused on the lower part of his face, specifically his mouth. Simon’s cheeks were on fire now. Was Baz thinking about...that? Could he really want that? Could Simon? He’d never thought about it before with Baz. It had never even been a distant possibility in his mind. But now, Baz was clutching Simon's hand, looking at his lips, and was leaning forward. And Simon found himself leaning forward as well.

They got closer and closer. Simon’s eyes fluttered shut, focusing on the feeling of their linked fingers, how his skin felt like it was on fire everywhere Baz touched him. Baz’s soft breath on his skin. He smelled of sugar and spirits. Simon leaned in even more. This was impulsive, stupid, potentially friendship ruining. But Simon was still riding the high of the night a bit, his self control even more lax than usual. And by the Gods, he wanted this. He never knew he could want something so suddenly yet so badly. One more inch, and he would know exactly what Baz’s mouth felt like on his.

“Simon,” Baz whispered, and Simon almost shuddered.

“Baz,” he replied. He tried to close the distance, but Baz’s face had moved. Simon nearly fell face first onto the ground, just catching himself with his free hand. What the fuck? Why had Baz moved?

“Simon, the _sun_. The sun is coming up.”

Simon’s eyes flew open and his blood ran cold. He whipped his head around. The sky was purple and red, and seemed to soon be orange with. The sun wasn’t over the horizon just yet, but it soon would be very soon. Simon turned back to Baz, whose face was some mix between shock, horror, and bone deep fear.

“We have to go right now,” Baz said.

Simon nodded rapidly. Baz stood up, still gripping Simon’s hand, and Simon followed.

They ran through the last of the celebrations in town. Bumping into stragglers, nearly tripping over passed out people in the street. But they didn’t stop. No matter how much their feet hurt or lungs ached. The boys kept running through the buildings, through the fields, until they came to the dark woods of the Forbidden Lands. A soft glow surrounded Baz’s body, and as the sky got brighter, so did the glow. Baz threw back his scarf and mask. Simon caught them. He let go of Simon’s hand and frantically began undo his coat. Simon caught that too. He couldn’t see Baz’s face, but he could only imagine how scared he was.

Baz threw off his shirt just as they reached the edge of the hidden lake. And when the sun broke the horizon, his arms transformed into his large black feathered wings. They fanned out so wide they blocked out the sun. Simon gasped and froze in place. Baz looked like a terrifying, beautiful dark angel. He turned his head slightly. The pain in his eyes was very apparent. Simon couldn’t tell if the pain was emotional, physical, or some horrific mix of both. No matter what, it was terrible to see him like this. Baz looked away as he fell forward into the invisible lake.

Simon was frozen a long while. It took some time to collect himself. But slowly, he walked forward, picked up Baz’s shirt, and stepped into past the glamour as well. He did his best to float himself down, only stumbling slightly as he hit the ground. Baz’s trousers and boots lay in a mess on the ground. Simon threw them over his arms. When he looked up, there was Baz, floating in the lake alone, long neck lowered and face hidden by a single black wing. Simon’s heart broke.

He carefully put Baz’s costume in front of his cottage. Baz could do what he wanted with it. Simon hoped he’d keep it, because he wanted Baz to remember the good parts of the night, no matter how it ended. No matter what they missed out on. Simon picked up the cloak he left behind, and threw one last look over to Baz. Simon was still pretty sure Baz didn’t like to be acknowledged in his bird form, but the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“I had a really good night, Baz,” he said. “I-I hope you did too. Thank you for it. I’ll be back really soon, okay?”

Baz couldn’t answer, of course. But he lifted his head out from behind his wing slightly, just enough to show one grey eye. That was answer enough. Simon nodded. He floated back out of the lake, but a part of himself was absolutely left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, my fave trope, the almost kiss that gets interrupted. And this was all fun until the very end, because I like to end with angst. Hope y'all liked it and the art. Next chapter will be posted on Thursday. See you guys then! :D
> 
> [Tumblr post with art for people on mobile](https://bazypitchandsimonsnow.tumblr.com/post/183406557658/the-black-swan)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon deal with the aftermath of the festival. And Simon makes a shocking discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit weird but bare with me, alright? Also if there are typos in this, it's probably because I'm so excited for the Wayward Son cover tomorrow that my hands are shaking lol. I'm gonna be a mess over that for awhile, but we all are haha. Hope you guys like this!

“And when you negotiate, make sure you’re doing so from a point of strength.” David used his wand to write “STRENGTH” on the large slate board.

Simon tried to write it down himself, to pay attention, but his mind wandered as always. He despised his governance studies, and the private lessons with David were particularly tortuous. So his quill kept drifting to the margins of his parchment. His doodles started off as random lines, but quickly they formed the vague shape of a mouth. A thin mouth, with shiny teeth and a secret smile, who’s possible taste Simon was still thinking about days later.

“Simon!” David barked, making the prince jolt so hard his knees banged sourly against the desk. “Pay attention! This is _your_ future we’re learning about.”

Simon sunk into his chair, fidgeting with his feathered quill. “I know, Father.”

“How do you expect to be a king if you won’t even learn diplomacy?”

_I never asked to be king,_ Simon wanted to yell. But he knew yelling at his adoptive father got him nowhere. So he simply shrugged. David shook his head.

“Look,” the king sighed, “I know diplomacy isn’t as exciting as magic or sword fighting. But it’s necessary for when you take the throne. You need to know how to rule strongly, so you can handle Watford when I’m gone.”

“But you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. I don’t have to worry, right?”

David shook his head even more. He walked up and put his hands on Simon’s desk, looming over his heir like a very perturbed statue. “Don’t be naive, Simon. There are enemies everywhere for a king. I could be killed after I walk out of this room! You have to be ready for my death at all times, or you will be caught off guard and Watford will be left without a strong ruler, as well as someone to carry on my legacy. You’ll have to tell the same to your’s and Lady Wellbelove’s children. Every king has to.”

“Great pep talk, Davy,” Simon murmured.

“What was that?” David glared even harder.

Simon sank further into his chair. “Nothing, Father. I’ll pay attention now.”

“You should have been paying attention from the start, but very well.” He went back to the board. He tapped his wand under “STRENGTH” once more “This is the most important trait when negotiating. Strength is what everyone respects universally, no matter what you say.”

Simon underlined “strength” three times on the parchment. He listened and listened, and tried to figure out how much of it he actually believed. David was a good king. He must know what he was talking about. But it didn’t sit well with Simon, not all of it. Being strong, a wall, listening to no one and barreling through. It had worked for him. Simon thought it was better to be cautious and ask others, but David didn’t. But...

_“Don’t try to be like David, Si. Be like you.”_

Simon didn’t know what he wanted to be like. All he knew was that he really didn’t want to be _here_ right now. He wanted to be back at the festival, eating sweets, dancing his heart out, kissing a strange boy before the sun came up.

“Now, you better start packing, we’ll be off first tomorrow morning.”

Simon’s head bolted up. “Wait what? Are we going somewhere?”

David sighed and shook his head. “Yes, Simon. We’re going to the west. There have rumblings of rebellion from the region, but an appearance by the king and crown prince will put those to rest. I already told you about this.”

“N-No you didn’t!”

“Yes,” he growled. “I did. You probably just weren’t paying attention.”

Simon curled in on himself, picking at his nails. “I-I guess. How long are we going to be there?”

“As long as we have to be. What, do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

The way David asked the question suggested there was only one answer, no matter what the truth was. Simon let his head fall, staring at his lap and shaking hands. “No, Father.”

David made an approving sound. “Good. Make sure you’re well packed and ready to ride. You’re dismissed for today.”

Simon stood up and nodded. “Thank you, Father.”

He walked out of the room with his head still down. He kept walking through the halls, trying to keep his composure. And the second he was in his room, Simon grabbed his sword and started battling the air. Simon channeled all his fury into every slash and stab into nothing. He did that until his arm was sore, then let it fall. The tip of his sword made the tiniest clink on the stone floor. It was loud in the room, save for Simon’s harsh breathing.

Simon didn’t want to go to the west. He didn’t want to not see Baz for ages. Just the thought of it made his heart ache. But he was going to have to go. And he’d have to tell Baz. That made the ache even worse.

* * *

 

“Hey.”

Simon turned around. Baz was already standing there, hands behind his back, small smile tugging at his lips. Those lips that Simon hadn’t stopped thinking about for days. His stomach fluttered. He couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you?”

“Better.” He tapped his bruise, which had faded to a much smaller purple stain. “This thing is almost gone, thankfully.”

“That’s good. Glad to hear it.”

Baz nodded then quickly looked at the ground, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Simon gulped, because he was very sure Baz’s cheeks were red. It was still hard to see the colour on him, sure, but it was almost certainly there. Simon didn’t know what to do. Grab his hand? Tell him about his trip? Kiss him to make up for what they missed out on? But it wasn’t that night anymore. The high was gone. Simon was nervous beyond belief. He had no idea what to do. And from the look on Baz’s face, neither did he.

Maybe the only thing to do was to do what was normal.

He dropped his bag and quickly scooped up a long stick. “Wanna duel? I’m feeling confident about winning tonight.”

Baz’s brow furrowed for a moment. But when Simon poked Baz’s chest, the other boy sighed, picked up his own stick, and crossed their swords. “Very well. As long as you’re prepared to lose.”

Simon grinned, and made the first jab. Baz parried him with practiced ease. They fell into their usual rhythm. Slashing, blocking, giving ground then snatching it back. But right now, the steps reminded Simon far too much of their dancing. His mind kept going back to the last time they moved liked this, spinning and flying across the ground like it was as natural as breathing. When Baz’s arm was tight around his waist, when they had been so close and so happy. Simon wanted all that again, not sparring. So his slashes were weak, he barely blocked, and he gave far more ground than usual.

It took him a few minutes, but Simon realised Baz wasn’t trying that hard either. The other’s boys sword work was just as lackluster. Neither of them wanted this. So Simon lowered his sword, and Baz quickly followed. They stared at each other. It was clear both were unsure what to do.

“So,” Baz said slowly. “Want to talk?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

They both tossed their sticks to the side. Instead of walking to the lake, Baz walked to his cottage. Simon followed behind. They sat down with backs against the wall. And Simon couldn’t help but notice how closer they were. One wrong (or right) move, and he’d be holding Baz’s hand again. He wouldn’t mind though. He wouldn’t mind one bit.

“How are you?” Simon asked. It was a simple question on the surface, but so much bubbled under the surface. They hadn’t talked since the festival. Simon had no idea how Baz felt after what happened after they dashed through the woods, after their almost kiss.

Baz seemed to know the meaning. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I’m alright. It was a bit scary, I won’t lie. But I’m okay now.”

Simon wasn’t fully convinced. He shuffled a minuscule amount closer, cautiously brushing his fingers over the back of Baz’s hand. Baz barley reacted, except with maybe some more colour in his cheeks. “Are you sure? You can tell me.”

Baz sighed again. “I really am, Simon, don’t worry. Even if it had a rough end, I had a really fun night. Thank you for it.”

Simon’s pulse fluttered. He felt so proud and so unsure how to cope with it. He wasn’t used to being thanked. “Y-You’re welcome then, I guess. I’m glad you had fun, I did too.”

“We should, um,” Baz looked away, obviously embarrassed, “maybe...do something like that again soon. I think you’re right, I do need to get out of here more. Maybe we can go explore without the excuse of the festival.”

Simon’s eyes went wide. His mind was racing, thinking of all the things him and Baz could do together outside of this lake. Go town late at night, climb a hill, just run as fast as their feet could take them. It was exhilarating. But...there was David....

“Y-yeah,” he replied. “That’d be great. But...” Baz’s face fell. Simon’s heart broke instantly. He put his other hand over Baz’s squeezing firmly. “No, no no, I’m not saying no. I want to go and do that, most definitely. But it just might not be for a bit.” Baz’s brow furrowed. “My guardian, he’s taking me on a trip out west. So I’m going to be gone for awhile.”

Baz’s face fell again, but in a different way. Not heartbroken, just plain old sad. He was sad that Simon wouldn’t be around. It made something both soar and shatter in Simon all at once. He didn’t want Baz to feel anything bad, but a small part of him was strangely happy that Baz could be sad over him. Baz looked down at their hands, then flipped his over, fingers curling around one of Simon’s.

“When do you leave?” he asked softly.

Simon swallowed, staring at their hands. “Tomorrow morning.”

Baz’s shoulders slumped. “And how long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. My guardian won’t say. At least a week, probably longer.”

“I see.”

Baz’s voice was even, but his hand was so tight. He couldn’t hide his feelings from Simon at this point. And it made Simon feel horrible. So he reached behind himself and grabbed his bag. He rummaged around for a moment, then pulled out what he had brought from his room before he snuck out.

“Here,” he said. “to keep you company while I’m gone.”

It was a large book with a red leather cover. It was an analysis of the interaction between societal norms and economic policies by Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Simon wanted to doze off every time he looked at it. But he knew Baz would love it. And he was right, considering how Baz’s mouth fell open and his eyes went very wide. He balanced the book on his knees, tracing the gold letters.

“This is incredible,” Baz whispered. “Where did you find this?”

“My friend gave it to me awhile ago. I hate reading stuff like it, but I thought you’d appreciate it more than me.”

Baz chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You assumed correctly. I’ll enjoy it greatly.” He looked at Simon again, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, cheeks certainly red. “Thank you, Simon.”

Simon grinned back. His heart fluttered again. By all the Gods, he wanted to kiss that beautiful smile on Baz’s face. He could feel his face heating up at just the thought of it. But he was leaving. He didn’t want to kiss Baz then leave him alone for possibly weeks. Baz deserved better than that.

“You’re welcome, Baz,” he said. He was the one who shifted their hands this time, weaving their fingers together. Baz clutched him tight. “You won’t have to read it for long though. I’ll be back. I promise, Baz, I’ll come back.”

Baz didn’t stop smiling, but his eyes were more than just happy. They were kind, understanding. There was so much contained in the deep sea galaxy of his gaze. And Simon never wanted to look away.

“I’m not worried,” he said quietly. “I know you’ll come back, Simon.”

Simon’s mouth became dry. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears. He tried to memorised the gorgeous look on Baz’s face. That image in his mind would be the only thing to help him get him through the upcoming tortuous journey.

“And I always will,” he replied.

That was a promise he didn’t plan on breaking.

* * *

 

The trip itself wasn’t too bad. It only took a day and a half with a stay at lower lord’s house overnight. Simon rode in his own carriage and slept most of the way. It was nice to not have David nagging him the entire time. He’d almost call it peaceful, if his dreams weren’t filled with his recurring nightmares and the occasional flash of Baz’s face.

But once they reached the edge of Canterbury, the capital of the western province, everything got so much worse. David made Simon ride next to him on horse. Simon hated horseback riding. Saddles were uncomfortable, horses didn’t listen to him, and it was all made so much worse by his itchy prince clothes.

“Why do I have to wear this?” Simon asked, voice dangerously close to a whine. “They’re not good for riding.”

“Because we need to make an impression, Simon,” David said with his nose in the air. “We need to remind them that we are their sovereign rulers, and disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Something about made Simon flinch. He remembered the matron’s words. _Listen to me, Simon,_ she would yell, _and do what I say._ Simon thought those kind of strict orders went away when you grew up. But maybe the orders just started to come from someone higher up and further away. That was kind of what a king was supposed to do. Simon didn’t want to do that. He didn’t even want to be a hero right now. He just wanted to see Baz again. Yet here he was, wearing his embroidered green tunic and golden circlet, and absolutely loathing every minute of it.

The royal procession walked through the main thoroughfare. Simon had to work very hard to keep his horse in line. He did his best to wave politely to the crowd anyway, while David did the same and kept his stern composure. The streets were reasonably filled with people, but there was no cheering. They merely clapped politely. And when Simon looked at their gaunt faces, none of them were smiling. Most of them were blank, void of any emotion, and a few even looked angry. What disturbed Simon the most was that some of their expressions reminded him of Baz. So many had a distant sadness sitting in their eyes. Simon’s heart felt tight.

They arrived at the manor, where they were greeted by Lord and Lady Stainton and their daughter Philippa. Philippa went to school with Simon and roomed with Agatha. They weren’t super close but they spoke a few times. Simon always suspected she had affection for him. He was nervous to see her again. But when he dismounted and stood in front of her, Philippa was nothing but courteous. She followed her parents, curtsying and bowing her head low.

“Welcome to Canterbury, your majesty and your highness,” Lord Stainton said. “We are honoured to have you in our home.”

“As you should,” David replied curtly.

Lord Stainton seemed a bit thrown off by that response. He cleared his throat and straightened even more. “Of course. We’ll have the servants bring your bags to your quarters. Would you like to see the most recent reports?”

“Of course. Simon, come along.”

Simon followed a distance behind the actual adults. Philippa was beside him, hands linked in front of her skirt politely. He leaned a closer to her.

“It’s good to see you too, Lady Stainton,” he whispered. “How are you?”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, your highness,” she replied. “I’m well. Thank you for asking.”

Simon wanted to ask more, ask her what she’s been doing since school. But they entered the conference room, and David gave Simon a look that said, _“come here now.”_ Simon scurried forward to stand at his father’s side. They took the head seats that were supposed to be for the Lord and Lady. But the King always got the best seat no matter where he was. Lord Stainton took a moment to look down at Simon sitting in his seat, then spread out a large map on the oak conference table. It showed the western province with a few red marks.

“There have been problems here, here, and here,” Lord Stainton said. He kept speaking of uprisings, of who the leaders were, how they were handling it. Simon listened as best as he could. The biggest thing he noticed was that Lord Stainton never mentioned the reason for these uprisings.

“I see,” David said thoughtfully, stroking his mustache. “We’ll go to these towns and you’ll voice your support for me. I’ll speak well enough to quash these rebellions. Prince Simon will stay here to keep a presence in the capital. Understood?”

“Understood, your majesty,” Lord and Lady Stainton said simultaneously. Simon had to hold back a groan. So they came all this way so Simon could sit around in a different annoyingly large building, one far enough away that he couldn’t sneak out to see Baz or Penny. If there was a Hell, Simon was sure he was living in it.

“Good. The Crown Prince and I shall rest before dinner.”

“Of course,” Lord Stainton said. “Rest well, your majesty.”

“We will.” He stood up and beckoned with his hand. “Come, Simon.”

Simon nodded and stood. “T-Thank you for the rooms, Lord and Lady Stainton,” he said as confidently as he could.

The three nobles smiled kind and bowed their heads. “You’re welcome, your highness” Lady Stainton said weirdly cautiously.

Simon smiled back. But as they walked away to their quarters, Simon felt David’s hand grab the back of his jacket. Simon yelped and choked slightly. He looked up at David. The king glared at him with unmasked fury.

“Do not speak out of turn,” he growled. "Understood?"

Simon gulped. His palms were suddenly sweaty. He nodded. “Y-Y-Yes, sir.”

David let go. His mask returned. “Good. Go to your quarters.”

“Yes, Father.”

Simon took the smaller room while David entered the larger one. Simon breathed a sigh of relief the second the door was closed. David didn’t hit him, sure, but he never had to. He was intimidating enough without leaving a mark.

Simon’s brass trunk sat in the middle of the room with his rucksack on top. He wished he knew which servants brought it up. The trunk was very heavy, he wanted to at least thank them, maybe even give them a few coins. He’d try to find them later. First of all, he opened up his travel bag, and pulled out his leather bound sketch book. Simon flopped down on the large page as he flipped through the pages, and he soon landed on his destination. He stared at his latest sketch of Baz for far too long. He hovered over the drawing, tracing the drawing’s features with a hovering finger. His dark wavy hair, his pretty eyes, his barely there smile. Simon missed Baz like he would miss the sun if it went out. And he’d definitely be counting the days until he saw him again.

* * *

 

The Canterbury Manor wasn’t that bad, really. It wasn’t as big as Watford Castle, but it was still sizable, and everyone was nice. Lady Stainton was a good host. She made pleasant conversation with Simon at meals, despite her obvious discomfort with him. Simon was used to it. She didn’t look down on him with contempt like her husband, but obviously didn’t know exactly how to act around the common born prince, especially when David wasn’t around. Philippa was nice too, but she had private tutoring that took most of her time as well. He tried to talk to servants, but they were all too intimidated by his presence to hold any sort of conversation.

So Simon spent his days mostly alone, switching between wandering, sketching, and practicing his sword work at the training ground. He tried to work on some new things to show Baz when he got back. But his heart wasn’t in it. His heart felt far away, left behind in Watford, in that hidden lake. It was a foreign feeling for Simon, and no matter how much it hurt, he didn’t want it to go away. He wanted anything that reminded him of Baz.

He was practicing a new blocking technique when the door opened and he stopped. His eyes met Philippa’s, and she jolted back.

“Oh, hello, your highness,” she said nervously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I’ll go-”

“No!” Simon called out. Philippa turned back around, looking very shocked. “Uh, you don’t have to go. It’s your grounds, and you’re here to practice, right?”

It was a fair assumption. Philippa was wearing a loose tunic and trousers, something uncommon for women in Watford, unfortunately. (Penny was constantly railing against that.) Philippa looked down, hands clasped in front of her. “Yes, but you may have the ground, your highness.”

Simon sighed. He sheathed his sword and stepped towards her, though still a respectable distance away. “Philippa, look up,” he said. She raised her eyes but not her head. “You don’t have to do that. King David isn’t here, no one is. You won’t get in trouble. We’ve known each other for years. You were Agatha’s bloody roommate. We didn’t talk a lot, sure, but I saw you all the time. You don’t have to treat me like I’m someone super important.”

“But,” she said with genuine confusion, “you’re the crown prince.”

Simon shrugged, rubbing his upper arm. “I prefer just Simon, honestly.”

Philippa finally raised her head. She looked incredibly nervous. Simon grinned as brightly as he could, and Philippa’s body visibly relaxed as she smiled back. And Simon felt a lot better.

“So what do you practice with?” Simon asked.

“Uh, longsword mostly,” she replied. “I started back at Mage’s School and I enjoyed it.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “I thought girls weren’t supposed to learn swords at School.” (Another thing Penny railed against a lot.)

“We’re not, but I started learning from some of my male friends in secret in sixth year. I’ve tried to keep up the work ever since.”

“That’s pretty awesome.”

Philippa smiled more. “Thanks.” She shuffled her feet, rubbing a hand on her neck. “Y’know I...I heard you were really good at swords. An arrogant part of me always wanted to, um, see how good you were.”

Simon shrugged. “Well, I don’t think I’m that good. But we can duel, if you want.”

Philippa’s eyes went very wide. Her mouth fell open. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m always looking for new competition.”

Philippa chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but if you’re offering I’ll go for it.” She walked over to the armory rack and snatched two wooden practice swords. “Let’s use wood though. I don’t want to accidentally stab the heir to the throne.”

Simon laughed as he tossed his sheath off. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

He held out his hand. Philippa hesitated for a second, then tossed the sword to him like an old sparring partner. He caught it and walked to the centre of the ring. Philippa followed, swinging her sword back and forth with all the confidence of a pro. They faced each other equidistant apart. Simon got into his fighting stance, both hands on his hilt, feet lining up with his rolled back shoulders. Philippa did something similar.

“I hope you don’t go easy on me,” she said. “I like a challenge.”

Simon smirked, like how Baz did before their matches. “Don’t worry. So do I.”

They nodded once, and then they began.

Simon striked first, a downward slash, which Philippa blocked easily. He tried again, she blocked again. But she didn’t give ground. She held firm and Simon couldn’t move her. Philippa finally struck. She swung to the side. It wasn’t that strong, and Simon blocked, but the odd angle she used forced him to step back, foot digging into the sawdust. Philippa took the advantage, pushing forward. Simon was impressed. He quickly noticed her fighting style. What she lacked in strength she made up for in speed and technique. She was quick, precise, technical. She was a lot like Baz even though she wasn’t as as strong. And Simon knew how to fight Baz.

He pushed back at Philippa with a sizable amount of force, making her stumble. Simon didn’t give her a chance to think. He kept striking, throwing her off the rhythm, pushing forward until she had to give ground. Her strikes became frantic, technique abandoned. One of her swings faltered badly, and Simon took the opportunity. He stuck his sword underneath her’s, spun around, and sent her wooden blade flying out of the ring like the world’s strangest bird. Simon didn’t point his sword at her. It felt too bragging. Philippa was out of breath, but looked strangely pleased.

“Well,” she chuckled, “I can see now why people said you were good.”

Simon chuckled as well, planting the sword in the ground. “Thanks. You’re amazing too.”

She smiled brightly, a bit of flush on her cheeks. Simon inhaled sharply. She reminded him of Baz the night before he left. He liked seeing that on Baz, but not on Philippa. He got nervous seeing it on Philippa.

“So, uh, do you just like swords or do you plan to fight a war?” Simon said jokingly, trying to alleviate the mood. But Philippa’s suddenly became very serious, her body and mouth a thin straight line. She walked out of the ring to pick up her sword. Simon followed behind her. Philippa put away the sword almost angrily, rattling all the other weapons.

“Um,” Simon said slowly, “did I say something bad? I’m sorry. I’m still bad at speaking.”

Philippa sighed. “Your hi- Simon, how much do you know about King David’s policies?”

Simon shuffled his feet. “N-Not as much as I probably should.”

“Anything about the west?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Philippa nodded thoughtfully. She turned around, arms crossed, eyes downcast. “Ever since King David took power, the taxes have gone up. It was fine at first. My family could pay them, we had enough. Eventually though, he stopped wanting money and started asking for some of our grain, which was also fine at first. But then he kept wanting more and more. And now our people have barely anything to eat. My father keeps asking him to lower the amount at the council meetings he attends, but the king keeps insisting we have enough to give away. That it's time for the lords to pay their dues, no matter how much my father tries to dispute him.” She took a deep breath and lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with determination. “So...I suppose I want to know sword fighting to protect my people when I’m Lady of Canterbury. Like I’m supposed to.”

It was Simon’s turn to be surprised. He remembered Philippa just as Agatha’s sweet, shy roommate. But either he hadn’t been paying enough attention at school or she’d changed a lot in the last year. He was thoroughly impressed by her. And thoroughly disgusted by what David was doing.

“That’s horrible,” he growled. “I-I had no idea! I thought he was just going after the really rich lords, not the common people! Gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault, Simon,” Philippa sighed.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” He sat down in the middle of the ring, a cloud of sawdust bursting up around him. “I should know more about Watford policy. But I don’t, because I don’t like it. And look where that’s got you and all of the West. So, I’m sorry. I’m a shit prince and I’ll be an even shittier king. You and your people deserve better.”

Philippa didn’t say anything. Simon stared at his own feet. He heard rather than saw Philippa sit next to him, sawdust blowing up in a little “puff” noise. “Would you do something like what he’s doing here?”

“Never,” Simon said automatically. “Never, absolutely not.”

“Then you’re already a better king than David.”

Simon lifted his head. Philippa was looking at him kindly. He smiled back, but still shrugged. “Thanks. The problem is I’m not sure I’d know how to do something different though. Fuck not sure I even want to be king.”

“Well, guess you don’t have much choice in that matter.”

“Guess so.” He flopped backwards on the itchy training ground floor. “Kinghood is a long way away though. I can sword fight until then.”

Philippa snorted. “Then I’ll have to challenge you again sometime.”

“I’d certainly like that.”

She flopped with him. Together stay stared at the high vaulted ceiling with its intricate lattices of stone. Philippa’s head lolled to the side. “So what else do you like to do instead of the prince stuff?”

_Meet up with a snarky cursed boy who I have the inexplicable urge to snog,_ he wanted to say, but obviously couldn’t. Baz was his beautiful secret. Luckily there were other, smaller things in his life. “Well, sword work obviously, good food, and drawing.” He turned to look at her. “What do you like?”

Philippa made a contemplative noise. “Hm, sword work too, dresses, and, well, you’re going to think this is childish, but I love storybooks.”

Simon bolted up, a big grin across his face. “Really? Me too! I love old storybooks!”

Philippa gasped and grinned like a child with candy, sitting up as well. “Oh, amazing! Finally, someone to appreciate the collection with!”

“Collection? What collection?”

Philippa looked incredibly pleased. She jumped to her feet with impressive ease then offered her hand. Simon took it, and she hoisted him to his feet too with only a little struggle. “Just you wait, Prince Simon, your britches are going to be blown off.”

Simon had little time to question that statement before she was dragging him down the grand hall. They raced across the floors, sharply turning corners and narrowly avoiding running into things and servants alike, until they reached a set of giant double doors. Philippa let go of his hand, and pushed them wide open.

“Welcome,” she announced grandly, “to the Canterbury Library.”

Simon thought the royal library was impressive, but this was something else. The shelves were at least three times as high, nearly reaching the ceiling. Each as filled to the brim with books and scrolls of every kind. _If Penny or Baz came in here, neither would go outside ever again,_ Simon thought. Even he could appreciate the majesty of it.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“Impressive right?” Philippa said. “Ever since the first royal palace burned down, this has been the biggest collection of books in all of Watford. My father says that’s one of the reasons King David wants to make sure we won't have rebellions. We’ve got some of the older historical and magical texts here that were lost in the fire that he occasionally needs, for negotiations and spells and such. But those are boring. Let me show you the good stuff.”

Philippa started walking to to her left. Simon trailed behind like a lost puppy. Which he certainly felt like in here. Philippa turned a corner, took another five steps, then stopped. Simon nearly ran into her, barely stopping in his tracks.

“This,” Philippa announced, “is the best part.” These shelves are lined with slimmer volumes with many coloured covers. Philippa pulled a red one off and held it out to Simon. He took it, tracing over the letters. _“The Dragon Prince.”_ It was one he was familiar with, one he read back in the orphanage. But unlike the orphanage, this copy was pristine. There wasn’t a single scratch or tear, the letters were shining silver, and a Canterbury Cross was indented on the corner. A sign that this book belonged in this incredible place.

“It’s beautiful,” Simon said. “All of these are fairy tales?”

“These five shelves, yeah. I’ve read them all a lot.”

“Lucky. I would be here all the time.”

Philippa traced over the spines with genuine affection. “Well, you can look at as many as you while you’re here.”

Simon grinned all the way to his ears. “Thank you. I’ll definitely take you up on it.”

“Go wild. I’m happy to have someone else who can appreciate this.”

Simon took that to heart. He scanned over, pulling any title that looked interesting. Ones he knew, ones he’d never seen before. _“The Red and White Queen”, “Mermaids of the Crystal Cave”, “A Beauty and Her Monster”-_

Simon stopped. He stopped moving, thinking, breathing, anything. Time had frozen in place as his fingers touched the spine of a blue bound book. He read the the silver words on it over and over.

The book read, _“Swan Lake.”_

Simon cautiously took it. The cover had the title again, along with a silhouette of a swan floating on water. Simon took a deep but shaky breath. What was this? Could it be...?

“Simon?” Philippa asked. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” he replied, shaking the haze from his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uh, really amazed by your books. Um, I-I’m going to go start them right now, actually. Thank you!”

“Um, you’re welcome!” Philippa called after him as he ran away.

Simon ran and didn’t stop until he got to his room, slamming the door shut immediately. He felt like he had some sort of dastardly secret. Did he? Was this even important or just some scary coincidence? It didn’t hurt to look.

Simon placed the stack of books on his bedside table and held onto Swan Lake. He stared at it for far too long, caught in excitement and nerves. Slowly, he opened to the first page.

* * *

 

_Once upon time in a faraway land, there lived a prince named Siegfried._

_Siegfried lived a loud and carefree life. He went to parties and drank far too much ale, never caring for anyone. But on his 18th birthday, his mother told him he must choose a bride at the ball the next evening. Siegfried was forlorn over the loss of his freedom, so his friend suggested they go hunting to lift his spirits._

_They went deep, deep, deep into the woods with their crossbows. Siegfried looked up to the sky, and saw a flock of swans overhead. The pair followed the swans into the darker parts of the forest. Siegfried quickly lost his friend among the trees as he followed the flock._

_Soon, he came upon a crystal clear lake. The swans landed upon the water. Just as the sun set on the horizon, every bird turned into a beautiful woman dressed in white. One also wore a golden crown upon her golden hair. Siegfried was instantly enchanted by her. He emerged from his hiding spot. They were all initially scared, but Siegfried assured them that he meant no harm._

_The crowned one told Siegfried that her name was Odette. She and her companions were all cursed by an evil wizard named Rothbart. They were forced to be swans during the day and only became human at night when they were landed upon the lake._

_Siegfried was heartbroken at her woe. He asked if there was anyway to end this horrific curse. The only way to break the curse was more tragic than the curse itself. Someone who had never loved before had to declare their love for Odette to the world._

_Siegfried almost asked to know more, but suddenly a man with yellow eyes like an owl stepped out from the shadows. It was Rothbart! Siegfried raised his bow to strike the evil wizard through his heart, but Odette stopped him. She told him that if he killed Rothbart before the curse was broken, it would be permanent. Siegfried lowered his bow and could only watch as Rothbart went by._

_Odette returned to her ladies. They danced together in a circle around the water. Siegfried was dazzled beyond reason. He tried to approach them, but all the ladies were scared of his weapon. He snapped the crossbow in half, then approached Odette. He offered his hand and waited for Odette to take it. She was shy and scared at first, but Siegfried offered all of himself, and she decided to trust him. They danced the entire night together. Their feet spun and flew over the ground. Their eyes never left each other. And in the course of that night, Siegfried and Odette fell in love. But soon the sun was rising once more. Odette and her ladies became swans once more. Siegfried called to the swan in the golden crown that there would be a ball at his palace tomorrow, then he left with his broken bow in tow._

_That night at the ball, Siegfried patiently waited for Odette. Other princesses tried to entice him with their wiles but he had no eyes for them. Soon, Odette walked through the doorway with an escort, dressed all in black. Siegfried’s heart soared. He asked her to dance like they did the night before. She accepted. They flew across the floor for the second time. It was enchanting and perfect. Once their dance was done, Siegfried called for the guest’s attention. He announced to them all that he loved this woman undyingly, and he would marry her. They cheered for the newly betrothed._

_But when Siegfried turned to his love, he suddenly realised that she wasn’t Odette at all. Her appearance had completely changed. A loud laugh rattled out from the crowd. Odette’s escort transformed. It was Rothbart again! He told Siegfried that he had just announced that he intended to marry not Odette, but Rothbart’s daughter Odiele, magically enchanted to look like Odette. To make it worse, Rothbart showed him a vision. Odette had been watching through the window, begging for Siegfried’s attention. But he hadn’t seen her. She was now crying and running away. Siegfried was shocked and furious. He left the ball and ran to the lake._

_Odette arrived at the lake. Her maidens tried to comfort her but she was heartbroken beyond repair. Siegfried arrived soon. He apologised and begged for his love’s forgiveness. Odette forgave him, but he had already declared his love for another. He could no longer break her curse. Odette decided she’d rather die than live as a swan. Siegfried didn’t want to live without her, so he decided to go with her. Hand in hand, they both fell into the lake, and they stayed until the water filled their lungs._

_Little did Siegfried and Odette know, their sacrifice ended the curse on the maidens. The newly freed and grateful women watched as the lovers’ souls ascended to the heavens, together forever more._

_The end._

* * *

 

Simon slowly closed the book. He took a deep, shaky breath, eyes squeezed shut. The story was poorly plotted and depressing as all fuck, but that was wildly unimportant. A swan during the day, human at night, only able to turn back while on a lake. All were far too familiar to be a coincidence. Did the cloaked man take the curse from the story? Simon didn’t know if that was even possible. All he knew was that this was near identical to Baz’s story.

Except, this version had something else, something he’d been trying to find for months; a way to break the curse, a way for Baz to finally be free. But was his curse the exact same as Odette’s? Could Simon break it the way Siegfried was supposed to? Simon blushed at the very idea of it. Was that what Simon felt? He had no clue what “undying love” was supposed to feel like. But he knew he’d do anything for Baz, there was no question about that.

No matter what though, the second he got home, Simon was going to show this book to Baz.

* * *

 

Simon was strangely sad to leave Canterbury a week later. He shook hands with Philippa in public, but took a private moment to hug her. He thanked her for the company and the books she was graciously letting him borrow, and promised to write when he got home. She promised to write back. Simon wanted to thank her for Swan Lake in particular, but she might ask why. Simon couldn’t explain that in the short time they had. Maybe he would tell her when this was all over, when Baz was free.

The trip back was the same length, but it somehow felt ages longer. Simon was jittery beyond belief. He couldn’t sit still for more than two minutes. He read and reread Swan Lake twenty times, so that he could recite it to Baz off by heart. Baz would find that impressive. But eventually that became too much as well. He read other books, napped a bit, and before he knew it, they were back on the edges of Watford Town. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Tonight, he’d finally be able to see Baz again.

But then the carriage stopped.

Simon lurched forward then back, knocking his head on the seat. He rubbed the sore spot with a pout. Why did he keep getting head injuries? His brains were going to rattle loose and dribble out of his ears soon.

“Ow,” he groaned.

The door was violently ripped open, making Simon jolt. David stood with a stern expression.

“Get up, Simon,” he said. “We’re doing a procession, like when we arrived in Canterbury.”

Simon sat ramrod straight. “W-What? Why?”

David narrowed his eyes. “Because the capital should receive their ruler and heir with appropriate fanfare. So we will make sure it happens.”

Simon took a deep breath in place of a groan or shouting at David’s stupid face. “Yes, Father,” he gritted out.

“Good. Put on your crown.”

Simon snorted and grabbed his circlet. They walked to their horses, and Simon reluctantly got on. He was going to hate this even more than Canterbury and he knew it.

Watford Town as a bit more excited than Canterbury as they rode through. People looked generally pleased and happy. Or at least they were better at hiding their displeasure than Canterbury. They clapped and cheered and grinned. Simon waved politely, trying to ignore his desperate desire to run away into the Forbidden Lands. His eyes just swept over the crowd with passive disinterest. He scanned for Penny’s hair or one of his other old classmates. He noted the house, the fruit stands, the pond.

Simon’s breath stopped. His hand froze in the air. Sitting on the pond was a black swan, wearing a silver chain. And one of it’s deep sea grey eye met Simon’s dead on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Simon knows a way to break the curse, but whoops, Baz knows the truth. I won't spoil, but next chapter is where the angst really comes in. Also tbh I didn't plan on Philippa being this much of a character, but I needed a character with a last name and Philippa came up. She doesn't have a lot of personality beyond crushing on Simon in the book so she's almost an OC lol. I enjoyed writing this. Baz and Simon are so crushing and so awkward haha. It was hard to balance between the two but I liked doing it.
> 
> Next chapter will be next Monday baring any complications. And I'm posting the last request fic in the next few weeks. I'm really excited to post it and containing my excitement is really hard lol. I'll just say is that it's connected to one of my previous popular fics :) See you guys soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon knows he has to talk to Baz. But that doesn't make it easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for this chapter.
> 
> Also I am freaking the fuck out about the Wayward Son cover, I'm so excited!!!!!!!

Simon had been standing just outside the invisibility barrier for an hour. He kept walking away then coming back. Away, back, away, back, over and over, until his feet had left deep impressions in the dirt. His emotions were a tangled mess he couldn’t understand. There had been a pit in his stomach since this morning.

The second they had gotten back to the castle, Simon had told David he was tired and went to his room. Simon spent ages sitting in his room, shaking with panic and fear. His whole world felt like it as collapsing in on itself. Baz knew now. Baz knew he was a prince, and worse, he knew Simon hadn’t told him. Simon had no idea how Baz was going to react. The very idea of Baz having a negative reaction made his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe. It was miracle he had made his way out of the window tonight without falling into another breathless panic. He was terrified.

Which was why he was standing just outside, hand tight on his rucksack strap, terrified of what he would see when he walked through.

But he was home. And he wanted to see Baz, no matter what.

So Simon stepped through.

He scaled down the tree roots and hit the ground with a thump. And when he looked up, Baz wasn’t standing and waiting for him like the time before Simon left. He was sitting on the ground, far away, back towards Simon and facing the lake. His black hair blew soft in the wind. He didn’t move. Simon knew Baz had incredible hearing, so he had to have heard Simon. But he wasn’t turning around.

“Hi, Baz,” Simon said weakly, “I’m back. From the west.”

“I saw,” Baz replied. His voice was colder than frozen tundras. Simon shivered and pulled in on himself.

“Yeah. I, uh, saw you too. You go to that pond often? I’ve never seen you there before.”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The silence fell again. Simon found it strange how completely reversed their roles had become. How Simon, known for his lack of words, was saying so much and Baz was saying so little. And that said so, so much more.

Simon walked aimlessly around the ground. “I-I didn’t know you’d be there.”

Baz scoffed. The sound pierced Simon’s heart. “Obviously.”

“I didn’t even want to do that procession. It’s stupid. But my guardian he-”

“Simon,” Baz hissed. He finally turned his head. A deep scowl pulled on his mouth, and fire burned in his eyes. “Enough dancing around it. Fucking admit it.”

Simon gulped down the lump in his throat. His knuckles were white on the rucksack strap. He looked down at the ground, because looking Baz in the eye when he said it was too difficult.

“I’m...I’m a prince, of Watford,” he said.

_“A_ prince?” Baz asked. “So there are more of you royal spawn?”

“N-No, just me. I’m the only prince.” He stepped forward. “Baz, I’m-”

“So you’re the heir then.” Baz said it matter of factly, but there was a hint of derision that made Simon flinch. “You’re going to get the entire bloody kingdom one day then, yes?”

Simon rubbed at the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah.”

“So you’ll be ruling over everyone one day? Technically including me?”

“Yeah, I guess...” Simon didn’t like to think about ruling over anyone, let alone Baz.

Baz chuckled, low in his throat and menacing. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the strands back. “Wow. I honestly never would have pinned you for a prince. Simon, who stumbles over his words and finds Natasha Pitch’s books boring, is going to be king. May the gods save Watford. It’s bloody doomed the second you take the throne.”

Simon physically flinched. It wasn’t anything he didn’t know, but it hurt to hear. Especially from Baz. He thought he was safe from all his royal crap in the lake. Not anymore.

“Baz, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I should’ve told you-”

“You’re damn right you should have,” Baz snapped. He finally stood up. His scowl didn’t lessen, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I should know when my dueling partner is a prince. That way I won’t risk spilling his royal guts out on the forest floor and having my head cut off.”

“We spar with sticks,” Simon muttered.

“Well, scratching a prince would get me the same execution sentence.” He chuckled again, and it still wasn’t happy at all. “I should’ve guessed, really. All the clues were there. Overprotective ambitious father, surprising amount of good books, unrealistic made up childhood story.”

Simon’s head snapped up so fast his neck hurt. “What!? I didn’t make up stuff about my childhood!”

Baz snorted and looked to the side. “Sure, the heir to a throne used to be a poor mistreated orphan. I always thought it sounded a bit off even when I thought you were common or a social climber, and now it all makes even more sense. You were making it up to appear lower class and relatable to me. Is your common accent fake too?”

Simon vigorously shook his head. “No! T-This is how I sound! And I did grow up in an orphanage! I was left there when I was only a few days old!”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?!” Baz’s eyes were like daggers. He marched towards Simon with clenched fists. “I’m supposed to believe that someone who wears an embroidered tunic and golden crown while riding through the streets on a white horse grew up like that? When it’s far more likely he just told me some made up a sob story to make me think he could understand anything I was going through?!”

Simon stumbled back. He had never seen Baz so angry. He had never seen _anyone_ so angry. But worse than anger, Simon saw the way Baz’s eyes and lips quivered. He was hurt. Simon had hurt him, and that was so unbelievably worse.

“Baz,” he said softly, “I do understand.”

“How?!” Baz roared. “I live alone in a fucking lake, spending my days as a bird, forced to eat fucking worms to survive. You live in a bloody castle getting waited on hand and foot all day! Tell me, what part of our lives are at all similar?!”

Simon rubbed his own forearm furiously. “Well, uh, I-I feel alone too. My guardian, the king, he keeps me away from all my friends a lot. I only get to see you because I sneak out of my tower.”

Baz rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh poor you, being alone in a huge castle, with lots of food and servants, not having to worry if your captor is going to finally kill you the next time he comes around!”

Simon lowered his head. “I-I guess I don’t get that part. But I can still be sympathetic.” He took the smallest, the most cautious step toward him. “I can still be here for you. I want to. I want to break your curse-”

“Is that what this is about?” Baz narrowed his eyes very suspiciously. “Is that why you came back here to see me the second time? Why you come back at all? You hate your restrictive privileged prince life, so you get a little reprieve by wrapping yourself up in my mysterious curse.” He snorted unkindly. “No wonder you were so eager for us to study it. You liked the adventure, not me. You never cared.”

“What?! What, no! That’s not it! Of course I care, I-” Simon stumbled back again, a hand on his forehead. He didn’t think Baz was right at first, of course. But...maybe he did have a point. Simon wanted to be a hero, not a prince, sure. At least, he had at the beginning. Now he was pretty sure he just wanted to help Baz be free. Because he truly cared for Baz, not just his curse. Right?

Baz scoffed. “I should’ve known. What normal person would want to see a cursed teenager in a lake all the time? No, just a weirdo ‘adopted’ prince who wants to escape his oh so dreadful royal duties with a little mystery.” He turned around and walked back towards his lake. “Like you could actually understand what hardship is.”

Simon’s blood instantly boiled. He threw his bag to the ground, fists clenched, and marched towards him.

“Hey!” He shouted. “That’s not fair! Just because my life isn’t as shitty as your’s doesn’t mean I don’t know what hardship is! My childhood, i-it was one horror after another.” Baz scoffed, a recurring sound for him tonight. Simon growled, grabbed his shoulder, and forced him to turn around. “Look at me, arsehole! I got left at an orphanage when I was a baby, with nothing but the basket I came in and my name written on my arm. I slept in a filthy bed for eleven years. The older kids liked to kick me in the stomach and head for fun. The matron once backhanded me so hard my jaw was nearly came off. It took me years to learn to speak properly. I didn’t say my first word until I was six! I’ve been taking care of myself s-since, practically since I was fucking born!”

“Poor you, the tragic prince,” Baz muttered.

Simon started seeing red. “Yes! Poor me! My life wasn’t as shit as yours is now but that doesn’t mean you get to dismiss it, you self pitying wanker!”

Baz clenched his fist even harder. “But you’re royalty now. You have a perfect life.”

“It’s not perfect! It just sucks in a different way, you know that. And I’m only here because-” Simon sighed angrily and ran a hand over his face. “Y’know why King David adopted me? Because when I was eleven, I had a dream that I was on fire. When I woke up, the building was blown to pieces. And I was in the middle of all of it. My skin was glowing too. Turned out my magic had appeared in a really explosive way. I had somehow...transported everyone away, but I didn’t know that at first. I-I thought I had killed them. Everyone I knew.” Simon pressed against his forehead. He hadn’t talked about what happened since he told Penelope and Agatha when they were thirteen. The memories still stung.

“The matron,” he whispered, “she called me a curse and threw me on the street. I slept in a dirty drain for five days, fucking alone and hungry and freezing to death. I nearly died. Then I woke up one morning, and the king was standing over me. He told me I was going to be a prince. So of course I went with him. I was homeless and fucking _eleven_. I thought I was finally going to be a hero like in my storybooks. But it turned out I’m horrible at real prince work. And David doesn’t give much more of a shit about me than the matron, really. I’ve always been respectful because he took me in, but honestly, you're right. He’s a prick and I’m just something useful to him. And, well, I’m not even that useful. I’m a shit mage and an even shittier prince. You already know half of that. My life is just being a constant disappointment. I-It’s not as bad as you, but it’s still not good. I never lied about that.”

Simon finally looked up. And his heart shattered, because Baz’s face was completely blank.  There was not a single emotion on his stupid pretty visage. That was even worse than him being angry.

“I-I should’ve told you all this, Baz, I know.”

Baz leaned down closer, so close their noses almost touched. But Simon didn’t like it this time. “But you didn’t,” he growled. “You lied to me.

“I never actually lied!” Simon shouted. “I just, left out some parts.”

“And that’s supposed to be better?!” Baz threw his arms up. “You deceived me, Simon. You let me think you were someone different. You made me think you actually cared about me!”

“I do, Baz!” Simon stepped closer. He cautiously placed a hand on Baz’s face, tracing a thumb over his beautiful cheekbone. Baz didn’t push him away. His eyes even fluttered shut, nearly leaning into the touch. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I do care. And I still want to see you.”

Baz took a deep breath, his chest slowly inflating and deflating, eyes squeezed shut. Then they opened And when that bored mask slid over his face again, Simon’s heart shattered in his chest.

“Well,” Baz said as he pushed his hand away, “I don’t.”

Simon’s arm fell limp to his side. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Please, Baz. I-I care, I want to help you get free!”

Baz crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want your help, Simon. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

Simon stepped forward, and Baz stepped back. “Please, Baz-”

“Go,” Baz hissed. “Just, go. ”

When Simon reached out, Baz didn’t even try to do the same. Simon felt the tear roll down his cheek. It felt like a trail of fire his skin.

“I’m sorry, Baz, I’m so sorry. Please don’t do this. I-I have something. I can brea-”

“I don’t care what you have to say, Simon. It’s over. Just leave, and don’t come back. I don’t want you here ever again.” He turned away, letting Simon only look at his stoic back. “I was fine on my own before. I don’t need you. You can go.”

Baz’s voice was so cold, so void of any feeling. Like Simon and everything between them was meaningless. Simon’s sorrow quickly turned to anger. He clenched his fists and glared daggers into Baz’s back.

“Fine!’ he shouted. “Be like that! I won’t come back. Be alone forever, for all I care. Enjoy your lonely cursed life, Baz!”

Simon stomped away, scooping up his rucksack as he went. He scaled the wall with furious urgency. And he didn’t even turn back to look at Baz.

But the moment he was beyond the glamour, alone in the quiet woods, the despair settled in his heart again. Simon took a deep, shaky breath. It felt like the ground had opened up under. Everything had just fallen to pieces. Simon didn’t want to be alone right now. And there was one place he knew he needed to go.

* * *

 

Simon banged on the door lightly at first. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Bunce were out of town, and most of Penelope's other siblings were at Mage’s School. Except for the youngest, who slept so heavily a bear attack could happen and he’d still be in dreamland. But no one responded. So he banged harder and harder, loud enough he barely heard the steps coming down the stairs.

Penelope ripped the door open. Her hair was disheveled and her robe wasn’t even done up. She looked furious, then it shifted to more confused than anything.

“Simon?” she hissed. “What the Hell are you doing here?! It’s the middle of the night!”

Simon opened his mouth, but no words came out. They clogged up his throat and tangled his vocal chords up so the only sound he made was a choked sob. Penny’s face immediately fell. She stepped forward and grabbed his foreman.

“What’s wrong, Si? Are you okay?”

Simon tried to speak again, and this time, all that came out were tears. Penny immediately wrapped her arms around him. He pressed his face into her shoulder and held her tight. She stroked his hair softly.

“It’s alright,” she whispered. “Whatever it is, it’s alright, Simon.”

“No,” he sobbed. “It’s not, Pen. I fucked up, I fucked up so bad.”

Penny’s grip got tighter. “Are you in danger?”

“N-No. I just, I-” Simon pulled back to look at Penny’s face. She looked so scared and confused. Simon took a deep breath. “Can I come in? I’ve got a lot of stuff to tell you. Stuff I should’ve told you awhile ago.”

Penny still looked confused, but she nodded and let him inside.

* * *

 

The silence hung in the air like a thick fog. Penny had been gaping at Simon for a full ten minutes. Simon was pulled in on himself opposite her, cradling his tea cup with a blanket around his shoulders. He wanted to say something, but thought it was probably let Penny process all this on her own first. He had told her, well, everything, and it was a lot to take in.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Wow. That’s just...wow.”

“Yeah, I know,” Simon replied.

“So you’ve been meeting with a mysterious cursed teenager in the middle of the woods for months?”

“Since we explored the Forbidden Lands, yeah.”

“He really turns into a swan during the day no matter where he is?”

“Yup. Second the sun breaks the horizon, he changes. We had a close call after...almost kiss at the solstice festival.” Simon felt the blush creep up his face and saw a smile creep up Penelope’s. He didn’t want to hide anything from Penny anymore, but it was definitely embarrassing to say, for a second time. “We barely got out of sight before the the sunrise.”

“Mhm, I see.” Penny raised a brow. “‘Kaz’ instead of ‘Baz’? Nice pseudonym there, Si.”

Simon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I was put on the spot. I-I wasn’t sure if I could tell you his name.” A wave of shame hit him. He sunk further into the couch. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him before, Pen. Baz didn’t want anyone to know about him. He barely tolerated me knowing for a long time. And it’s not that I don’t trust you. I just...I didn’t want to break his trust. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she sighed. “I’m a bit upset, of course, but I understand why you did it. You were protecting Baz from that man.” Simon nodded. She leaned closer, elbows on her knees, eyes curious. “He’s been keeping Baz in that lake for how long again?”

“Since he was five. And he’s been cursed since he was thirteen.”

“Wow. Do you have any idea why the man imprisoned and cursed him?”

Simon shook his head. “I’ve been more focused on just breaking the curse than finding out the reason.” His face twisted again, heart sinking to the floor. “Baz, h-he was right, honestly. I don’t care about him. I just liked being the hero who saved him.” He wiped the fresh tears falling onto his face. “I’m a total prick. No wonder he never wants to see me again.”

Penelope sighed. She put down her tea and crossed over to the couch. She opened her arms and Simon fell into her embrace again. He was pressed against her tight. Simon was never hugged as a young child. He knew he had missed out on a lot growing up, but he really felt that loos when Penny held him like this.

“You’re not a prick, Simon,” she said softly. “Sure, maybe you did get caught up in the mystery of it all. You like adventure. But of course you care about him as a person too.”

“How do you know that?” Simon mumbled into her shoulder.

“Because you care about _everyone_ , Si. You’re one of the most kind, selfless people I’ve ever met. You want to save and protect all the people you can. Your heart is so big it scares me sometimes. And I have no doubt you cared about Baz just as much. Maybe even more, considering how much sleep you lost for him.”

They laughed, quiet and tired and brief. But the sadness quickly settled over Simon again. He wanted to believe her. But after tonight, with Baz’s angry words swirling in his head, he couldn’t. He burrowed further into his friend. “I should’ve told him I was a prince.”

Penny let out a long sigh. “Yeah, you should’ve.” She looked down at him with confusion. “Why didn’t you, Si? Wouldn’t Baz have understood?”

“Maybe. But...” Simon took a deep breath. He tried to sort through the tangled mess in his brain, stringing them together into something reasonably coherent. “B-But, I didn’t want him to know. I...I-I don’t like being a prince, you know that. Baz never had to know. With Baz, I could pretend I wasn’t one. And it was good. No bowing or royal duty talk or-or pretending I had to be t-tiptoed around. And I liked it! With Baz I felt...”

Simon tried to find one word to summarise his existence with Baz. How their time together made him feel. The nights with Baz his only reprieve from living as a constant disappointment to Davy and Watford as a whole. With Baz, he was happy, content, excited, relaxed, so incredibly at peace with himself for the first time in his life.

“Free,” he choked out. “I felt free with him, Pen.”

Penelope held him tighter and petted his hair. More tears fell down his face. They wouldn’t stop tonight.

A terrible thought crossed his mind. He squeezed Penny’s arm. “Not, not that I don’t like being with you, Pen. You’re my best friend. I don’t know, I-”

“Shh, Si,” she said, “it’s okay, I understand. No matter how much I don’t care about royalty, I still know you’re a prince. I can’t change that. Baz didn’t know at all. You could fully be yourself with him. That must’ve been wonderful for you. You really liked being with him.”

“I really like being with you too,” he mumbled. It felt almost childish to say. But he felt he had to, because he didn’t want Penny to feel less.

Penny chuckled into his hair. “I know, thank you, Si. But being with Baz is different, right? And not just because he didn’t know you were a prince. Being with him felt more intense and incredible. Even if he did something someone else does, it felt very different.”

Simon looked up at her with his brow all pulled together. “Y-Yeah, exactly. How do you know that?”

Penny smiled kindly at him. She pushed a curl out of his eyes. Simon had never had real family growing up to counsel and comfort him. But if he did, he supposed they would treat him like this. He liked it a lot.

“Because,” she whispered. “I have Micah. I know what being in love feels like. And I’m very sure you’re in love too.”

Simon inhaled sharply. The words hit him right in the heart. He had thought about love ever since reading Swan Lake, of course. But every time he considered it, his brain fell into a whirlpool of complicated emotions and fears and past trauma. Simon didn't understand his own feelings. He never could, even with the curse at stake. Which made him feel even more useless. He lowered his head and shrugged.

“I don’t know about that,” he mumbled.

Penelope barked out a laugh. “Simon, you sacrificed many good night’s sleeps to see him, spent ages trying to find a way for him to get free, obviously greatly enjoyed your time with him, and you said you almost kissed him at the festival, remember? If all that isn’t being in love, I don’t know what is.”

Simon honestly had no way to refute that, because he was sure he’d never been in love before. He thought he had loved Agatha, but after that ended so quickly, he realised how wrong his feelings were. He knew then that he had absolutely no idea what being in love was. But Penny did, and she might be right about him too. She knew a lot about a lot of things. Her words cut through a lot of the mess in his mind. And honestly, if Simon was going to be in love, Baz was someone he could see himself with. At least, he could if Baz didn’t hate his guts right now.

He pressed his forehead even further into Penny’s soft robe, hoping it would stop his muscles shaking so terribly. “Pen, if this is being in love, does it always hurt so much?”

She rubbed slow circles in his back. “Not usually. But I won’t lie, sometimes it does.”

Simon groaned, the sound coming from deep and low in chest. “Love is terrible.”

Penny chuckled softly, her breath brushing against his skin. “It can be, Si.”

He wiped away some more stray tears. “I don’t know what to do now, Pen. I was going to tell him about the curse and now hates me and I don’t know how I can fix this with him. He told me to never come back, and I...I said such horrible things to him. I was so awful. Even if I do love him and could break the curse, would he even want me to? I-I don't- I just can't- ” His eyes scrunched up in mental anguish. Penelope held him tighter.

“Well,” she sighed, “I don’t think you can come up with anything reasonable like this. You need to rest.”

Exhaustion started to truly seep into Simon’s bones. It had been a very, very long night. He knew he should go back to the castle, but he didn’t want to be there. That wasn’t where he felt at ease. And he needed a lot of ease right now

“C-Can I stay here?” he asked quietly. “Davy’s been holed up in his study since we got back. He probably won’t notice if I’m gone.”

“Of course you can, Simon.”

He smiled against her shoulder. “Thank you.”

They slowly pulled apart. Simon kept the blanket wrapped around himself as they walked up the stairs. Penny got Premal’s room when he moved into the castle, and she now had the largest bed other than her parent’s. She didn’t hesitate to pull Simon onto the mattress with her. It wasn’t weird. They used to both sleep in Simon’s enormous bed back at Mage’s School when Penny couldn’t take Trixie and Keris’ snogging anymore. Simon was alone in his single room a lot. He liked having a roommate every once in awhile.

So when he laid down next to Penny, it felt normal and familiar, and he felt a bit better. Penny pulled the thicker blanket on top of them. Simon felt her hand tap his. He grabbed it, weaving their fingers together under the covers.

“It’ll be okay, Si,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Simon was already slipping into sleep, too tired to actually respond. But he squeezed her hand. And she squeezed back.

* * *

 

_The toy in his child hands was small but complex. He was trying to to geometric pieces into a coherent shape. Simon didn’t understand it himself. But whoever’s hands he had instead of his own were much better at it. The chubby fingers manipulated them with ease they shouldn’t have at this age. Simon felt the balsa wood, but it was the ghost of a sensation, like he was underwater and a million miles away._

_Soon, the small hands finished his puzzle. It became a perfect sphere made of tiny jagged pieces. The little boy let out a little sigh of disappointment. Distantly, Simon was aware that this child was sad to have nothing left to do. He looked up around his room. It was large and grand. The aura was dim, little light coming in the small windows. All the furniture was dark wood and far too tall for someone so short, looming over him like almighty gods of dead trees. Red tapestries fell down from the ceiling. Simon knew there was a symbol on it, but he couldn’t quite make it out. It was hard to focus on something so specific. Details weren’t clear, muddled in the invisible fog of the dream._

_He stepped out of his room, toddling a bit on his young feet. The boy walked directly into a wall of soft white cloth._

_“Oh, hello,” a sweet, familiar voice said. “Are you done with your toys, little puff?”_

_The boy looked up. The woman looked like a giant from his perspective. Her face was small and far away, but obviously kind. And that nickname she called him, Simon didn’t know it, but the boy did. He’d heard before from his mum. That was her cute name for him, she used it all the time. So others used it as well._

_“I’m bored,” the little boy said, voice high pitched and whiny._

_“Don’t you have your toys?” the woman asked._

_“I’ve used all the toys.” He fiddled with his tunic. It had a surprisingly elaborate design for someone so young. “Where’s Mummy? I want her to read to me.”_

_“She’s probably in her study. But she’s very busy.”_

_Simon felt the boy’s mouth pull into a pouty frown. “Is she too busy for me?”_

_The woman kneeled down, at level with the boy. Her face was close, but it’s details were distant. But Simon simply knew she looked kind._

_“No no, little puff,” she cooed, “not at all. She’s just-” The woman sighed. “You know, you should go see her. Go say hello to your Mum. You would be a welcome break from her work.”_

_The pouty frown turned into a wide grin. “Okay!”_

_The boy dashed off, out of the room and down the hall. It was familiar to the boy, but also familiar to Simon. He’d been here before. Tall, boring, lined with pictures and red banners. And the boy looking for his Mum._

“No,” _Simon wanted to shout,_ “get out of here, run, you have to run. Go before it-”

_The fire exploded behind him, and the boy screamed as he was engulfed in flames._

* * *

 

Simon bolted upright, like he had on many, many nights. He tried to control his shaky breathing and burning magic. He couldn't destroy Penelope's house, he just couldn't. He heard a grumble next to him. Right, there was Penny, laying next to him and still holding his hand. Her grip grounded him back in reality. His magic died down, the glow of his hands receding.

It was still dark outside the window. Simon knew he had barely slept a few hours. As the fear from the nightmare slipped away, the memories of what happened tonight started to creep back into his mind like an oncoming storm. Simon wasn’t ready to to deal with that again yet. So he laid down, pushed everything from his mind, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if it wasn't already clear who the dreams were about, I think this makes it pretty obvious lol. And yeah, shit is bad right now, I'm sorry :( It was hard for me to write but it's necessary for the character development and the plot. Also I know Baz's attitude and views seem really different to canon, but in my mind it was because he was raised completely differently. He's not an Old Family son here, he's an imprisoned orphan who's been alone in a lake for fourteen years. So he would be the more disadvantaged one compared to Simon, not the other way around like in the book. It's a weird role reversal from canon where Simon is the more privileged one and Baz is railing against his wealth, I guess. Idk this is how it worked out lol. Next chapter will be up Thursday baring any complications (aka my horrible health lol.) Brb gonna go freak out about the Wayard Son cover some more haha. See you guys soon :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Sorry this is late. If some of you don't already know, I've got pretty severe chronic headaches. They're unpredictable af and can completely incapacitate me, which they have for the past two days (hooray). But I'm mostly alright now, so here's the chapter! Enjoy :)

“And now, block,” David said as he brought his sword down. He was moving slower than a normal fight, but faster than would probably be safe for a normal person. But Simon blocked him with ease, two hands tight on the hilt, legs bracing himself against David. His arms barely shook with effort anymore. Years of training were paying off. Simon didn’t care though. He didn’t really care about much of anything lately.

“Good,” David said, though his voice was more neutral. “What do you do now?”

Simon didn’t bother to answer verbally. He rarely had the energy for words these past few days. Instead, he simply did what he knew. He stepped to the side and stuck his leg out. David purposely tripped, and Simon pressed the flat of his sword to the back of his neck. In a real fight he’d use the edge, of course. However if this were a real fight, Simon would never have a chance to get this close to a master sword fighter like David.

“Good, Simon. Now let me up”

Simon took a second longer than normal to let David up. Everything Simon did was taking a second longer lately. He felt like he was moving through a fog for the past six days. He followed a normal routine. Got up, ate his meals, did his studies, did his training, went to sleep, then repeat. Simple enough. But the world was murky, unreal, so unbelievably distant. Simon was just...numb. And he would hate it, if he felt anything at all.

David stood straight and sheathed his sword. “Good work, Simon.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied mechanically.

“Have you been training more?”

“No, sir.” A lie, but Simon didn’t want to explain his extra training to David. Besides, lying was apparently part of who he was. Why not embrace it?

“Hm, well, you’re doing alright. If you put as much effort into your policy readings and magic as you did your sword work, you’d be the perfect heir.”

It was typical David. A derision disguised as a compliment. Simon might be hurt on any other day. Today, he just nodded as he sheathed his own sword.

“How is your magic going?” David asked.

“It’s the same,” Simon replied. Which was probably not a lie. He hadn’t tried to do any magic in days, but it was most likely still the same level of terrible.

“Well, there’s always room for improvement. Why don’t we practice your fire magic? You’ve always been weak in that area. Go put away your sword and get your wand.”

“Okay.”

Simon’s journey to his room happened in snapshots. He was in the training ring, then the stairway, then his room. He barely registered moving from one place to the other. That had been happening to him a lot since the horrible night. Simon was too out of it to notice a lot of life as it passed him by.

His room was even more of a mess than usual. He didn’t care enough to fix it, but now it was coming back to bite him in the arse. Because now Simon had to sort through the sea of clothing and midnight snack leftovers for a tiny bone stick. Simon almost felt annoyed. He threw clothes about, scone crumbs falling down on him like rain. Some would probably get in his hair, but that wasn’t unusual for him. He casually looked, lazily tossing things about. Piles were put into different piles. Things were kicked into corners. The floor was slowly cleared.

But there was no wand. And Simon started to feel something for the first time in days; panic.

He threw everything around again, but far more frantically. It was like a tornado flew through his room. He looked through everything three times, but still no fucking wand. Eventually there was no more places to look. Simon was sweating and hyperventilating. _Where the hell else could it be?_ Simon thought. He eyes fell to ground, and soon locked on a piece of fabric. His breath hitched. It was the strap of his rucksack.

Simon hadn’t touched the bag since his last night at the lake. Looking at it was painful enough. He feared touching it would physically burn. Except now he didn’t have a choice. He knew he tended to stick everything in there. And a wand counted as “everything." With a shaking hand, he grabbed the backpack. It didn’t burn, though a pit did form in his stomach that threatened to eat him whole. The memories almost brought tears to his eyes again. He still opened the bag anyway.

There were the usual things that never left the bag, like his dagger and a spare shirt in case his got dirty. There was also the copy of Swan Lake he’d borrowed from Canterbury, and a now very old sour cherry scone, both pathetic peace offerings to Baz that he never even got the chance to take out. He carefully took the scone out as to not get more crumbs all over his stuff. Once everything was taken out piece by piece, Simon’s eyes went wide.

As if life didn’t have it in for him already, things were only worse. There was no wand in his bag. But there _was_ a small hole, just the exact size of a stupid bone stick.

Simon remembered the way he snatched his bag and ran from the lake. How it jostled and everything rattled around. How easy it would have been for his wand to slip out of that hole while he was stomping away crying from the man he might be in love with.

Simon’s wand was in the lake. Where Baz was. And Baz never wanted to see Simon ever again. But Simon needed his wand.

Fuck.

“Simon? What’s taking so long?”

David’s voice was close. Simon inhaled sharply, then threw his blanket over his stuff. He didn’t need David asking questions. It was just in time, as David walked in the next second without knocking. They stared at each other for a long moment. Simon hoped David didn’t see the panic in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asked slowly.

“N-Nothing,” Simon said. “I was just...uh...” _Looking for the wand I left in the secret hiding place where the probable love of my life who hates me lives,_ his brain oh so helpfully supplied. Like he could even say anything like that to David. “I-I’m just thinking...could we, uh, leave the magic training until tomorrow? My arms are tired from swords, and I’m not sure I could even lift a wand right now.”

He chuckled, trying to laugh it off, which was futile with David. His eyes narrowed on Simon, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh really?”

Simon rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, yeah. W-Would that be okay? We’ve been training a lot. I could use a break.”

David’s eyes got even smaller. “There are no breaks in ruling, Simon, I’ve told you this.”

“I-I know, I just, I’ve been doing well. Maybe...I could take just one afternoon off?”

David stared at him for a long time. Simon’s pulse was beating in his ears. He silently prayed that David would be accommodating for once in his goddamn life. And thankfully, his prayers were answered.

“Very well,” he sighed. “You have been working hard. You may take the afternoon off.”

Simon let out a breath. “Thank you, Sir.”

David nodded curtly. “Rest well, Simon.”

He turned around and walked briskly out of the room. Simon let the muscles in his arms relax, head hanging between his shoulders. One fight down, one more to go. Simon would have to return to the lake tonight. The idea of that filled him with so much dread, so much anxiety, and just the tiniest, most minuscule sliver of hope. It had been days. Maybe Baz was ready to talk. Maybe they could fix things.

It was strange to feel such a mix of emotion after days of nothing. It was overwhelming, but Simon could cope. Because he could go see Baz. Even if he still hated Simon, Simon might see Baz's face again.

That was the only thing he was looking forward to in almost a week.

* * *

 

Simon first worried he might have forgotten how to get to Baz’s lake. But the second he reached the edge of the Forbidden Lands, it was pure muscle memory. His feet knew the exact route through the treacherous wood. He didn’t bring his sword or dagger in a show of peace, so he hoped nothing was going to jump out at him. All he had in his bag was Swan Lake and a new scone, a second attempt at a pathetic peace offering. He hoped it was enough. It wouldn’t be, but Simon desperately wanted to hope.

He got closer and closer to the invisibility shield. His pulse increased with every step. Simon soon reached the three white birch trees that signaled his usual entrance. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and-

Wait. Was that...smoke?

There was a smell of smoke. And it was coming from just ahead.

For the second time that day, Simon started to panic.

His body went into autopilot. Simon’s feet flew like a wind, and he soon fell off the invisible cliff into the invisible lake. His magic somewhat cushioned his impact. But it didn’t cover up the black smoke all around him, or the flames licking at his heels.

It was _all_ on fire. Almost the entire lake was engulfed in flames. Simon coughed and covered his mouth. His eyes were watering from the heat. This was literally his worst nightmare brought to life, and somehow so much worse.

“Baz!?” he yelled. “Baz!”

There was no response, but the fire was so loud that Baz might be able to hear him. Or Baz was already dead. Simon wasn’t going to think about that.

Simon shielded his eyes and walked forward. He did his best to clear the flames away with his magic, but the path in front of him was still burning. His watery eyes scanned the area. He saw the scorched grass, and flames reaching the cottage, and finally the flash of black hair under a tree. Simon ran towards the tree, fire be damned.

“Baz!” he shouted.

Baz was sitting under the burning tree, knees to his chest and face hidden. Just as Simon got close, Baz lifted his head. He blinked his puffy eyes at Simon. His cheeks were tear streaked, but Simon had a feeling they weren’t from the heat of the fire.

“Simon?” he said weakly. “Is that really you? I’m not dreaming?”

Simon stood in front of Baz, breathing heavily. “Yeah, yeah it’s me. What the hell is going on?! Why is everything on fire?!”

Baz’s face fell even more. With a weak hand, he lifted up something from behind his leg. Simon’s eyes went wide. It was his wand. And when Baz held it, it spit fire out in a weak sputter.

“You left this,” Baz said weakly. “I found it a few days ago. I picked it up tonight, and just...thought about how mad I was. Then fire started coming out. I couldn’t stop it no matter how hard I tried, and I couldn’t put it out. But then I thought, ‘what’s the point?’”

Simon dropped his sack and went to his knees in front of Baz. He wanted to touch Baz, but he still wasn’t sure if he was allowed. “No, Baz, d-don’t say that. There’s a point! There always is!”

Baz didn’t snap or fight. It seemed all the fight was drained out of him. He pulled in on himself even more. “No, not this time.” Fresh tears fell down his face. His mouth quavered. “I really forgot how horrible it was, to be alone and cursed with no chance of freedom. And I...I can’t live like that again. I’d rather _burn."_

He tried to spit the last word, but it came out more like a choked sob. Simon’s heart had dead for almost a week, but it was most certainly alive now, and it was splintering in two. He shuffled forward, needing to be closer to Baz.

“No, Baz, please don’t say that,” he said desperately.

“It’s true,” Baz muttered. “You were my last chance at escape, and I pushed you away. You’re probably just here to get your wand.” He waved it weakly, making it dribble more fire.

Simon gulped, because he couldn’t deny it. But that wasn’t important anymore. He put his hands on Baz’s knees. He didn’t care if he was allowed, he just needed Baz to know he wasn’t alone.

“Baz, you didn’t push me away. I’m right here.”

“Why?!” It wasn’t an accusation, but a plea. Baz’s teary eyes were round with sadness and bewilderment. “Why would you ever want to be here with me again? I said such horrible things. I hurt you and pretended not to care. You should hate me!”

“I don’t! I forgive you! I-I hurt you too, and I’m sorry as well!” Simon’s voice was strained and desperate, but he truly meant it. He forgave Baz instantly. None of what happened before even mattered anymore at the moment. Now he just didn’t want to lose him for good.

But the look on Baz’s face said he didn’t believe him. “I’m sorry, Simon, I-I just, I can’t live like this anymore.”

He let his head fall forward onto his knees, his entire body shaking. The flames were crawling towards him. Simon’s heart raced and ached. He thought of Swan Lake, of Odette and Siegfried, of the word written on that last page.

_I won’t let our story end like theirs,_ Simon thought.

He reached forward, grabbed Baz’s head, and tilted his face up. Simon looked straight into Baz’s blood shot grey eyes and refused to look anywhere else.

“Baz,” he said firmly, “you _deserve_ to live. No matter how messed up everything is now, you should live, because you’re important. And you will escape this place, I promise, okay?” He leaned even closer. “I’ve never turned my back on you before. I’m not starting now.”

Baz tried to jerk away, but Simon refused to let go. He never wanted to let Baz go again.

“Simon...” Baz said, somewhere between a sob and a plea. He looked like was about to say something, something that would inevitably destroy Simon’s heart again.

So Simon kissed him.

Simon had thought so much about kissing Baz since the festival. Almost too much. How it would happen, when it would happen, how Baz’s mouth would feel pressed to his. Even after their falling out, a piece of his mind still fantasized about how they could have kissed if Simon hadn’t ruined everything. But here they were, under a tree, with the world burning down around them, nothing like how Simon imagined. And it was still incredible.

Baz’s lips were cold, colder than Simon remembered Agatha’s being. And they were soft. Simon had slept on silk sheets rougher than Baz’s mouth. It was an astounding, wonderful, life changing, world shaking revelation that he felt so ecstatic to know. He pressed hard against Baz, pushing him against the tree and holding his head in place. Baz gasped in surprise, and Simon wondered if he was about to get shoved into the flames. But then Baz pushed back, trying to match Simon’s furious, desperate movements with all his might. Simon felt instant relief. He held Baz tighter, kissed him harder, trying to push all his feelings in desires through his mouth. Lips slid together, panting breaths exchanged. Baz eventually relaxed somewhat, letting Simon shove him against the rough bark. Letting Simon just snog him for all he was worth.

Their mouths fit together so perfectly, like a key turning in it’s lock. And it opened so many doors in Simon’s mind. He knew the second his lips touched Baz’s that this was all he needed. Baz, not suffering, not in pain, just safe here in his arms, the two of them kissing so hard they forgot their lives. Simon would gladly die kissing Baz.

Simon’s eyes flew open. The flames were still licking at his feet. They were dangerously close to Baz. No, he couldn’t die kissing Baz. Because he refused to let Baz die.

Simon ripped their mouths apart. Both men were breathing heavily, half from the snogging, half from the copious amount of smoke in the air. Baz’s eyes were still half lidded and his cheeks were very flushed. He looked like a dream. Simon wanted to stare at him, but he couldn’t right now. He reached besides Baz and snatched his wand, then turned to the roaring flames.

**_“Out with thine flames!”_ ** he shouted. One fire went out, but it quickly re-lit. Simon growled. **_“Extinguish!”_ ** Still nothing. The magic was jamming up in Simon’s arm and fizzling out. His heart was beating so hard. He was going to die. _Baz_ was going to die. He couldn’t let that happen.

Suddenly, cool fingers wrapped around Simon’s hand. He turned his head, and Baz’s eyes met his. They weren’t sad anymore. They were determined, strong, as fiery as the trees burned around them. He deftly plucked the wand from Simon’s hand, and pointed it over Simon’s shoulder.

**_"Out with thine flames!”_ **he shouted, voice dripping with magic. Half the fire went out, but some stuff still burned. Baz tried again but the fire was unchanged.

Simon’s worry peaked again. Instinctively, he put a hand on Baz’s chest. Suddenly, he felt his magic somehow...push into Baz. It rushed like a roaring river into the other boy. Baz gasped. He looked at Simon, mouth hanging open. Simon’s breath was heavy. This was supposed to be impossible. But so much about both of them was already impossible. Why not this too?

“Try again” Simon said, voice strained but clear.

Baz nodded. He pointed the wand again, and shouted, **_“out with thine flames!”_ **

His voice was thunder, more powerful than his captor’s. The fire went out with a rush of air so sudden Simon’s ears popped. Most of the ground was charred black and smoking. The cloaked man wouldn’t like this. It needed to be fixed. Simon looked at Baz again.

“Say, ‘as you were.’”

Baz’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Simon pushed more of his magic into Baz. Baz inhaled sharply. “Trust me, just say it.”

Baz, still breathing heavily, nodded. He pointed the wand. **_“As you were!”_ **

One boom later, and it was all gone. Everything was returned to normal. It was like the fire had never been there in the first place. The grass was green and lush again, the trees completely unscathed. The lake was once again a beautiful prison of a sparkling blue water and strange floating lights. Simon let out a sigh of relief. Baz wouldn’t get in trouble with his horrific captor. Baz wouldn’t be burned to ash. Baz was safe.

Simon turned back to Baz. Baz was breathing hard, eyes wider than saucer plates, and arm still ramrod straight. Simon quickly realised he was still pushing magic into Baz. He removed his hand, and Baz’s arm fell as he let out a long sigh. The wand rolled on the ground. Baz’s eyes were slits. His chest slowly rose and fell, neatly matching Simon’s own. It took many moments before he founds words again.

“You’re a mage,” he whispered. Baz nodded weakly. “You can control my magic.” Baz nodded again. “H-How?! That’s not possible. You- You’re, how can you-”

Baz sighed, then grabbed Simon’s collar. Before he knew it, their mouths were crushed together again. Simon inhaled sharply, but didn’t move away.

Instead, he kissed Baz back with all he had. Just like he wanted.

* * *

 

Simon wasn’t sure how long they spent sitting under that tree, holding Baz’s face, kissing him. It could’ve been minutes, hours, years, who knew. Time stretched into a meaningless infinity when Simon was kissing Baz. He still had a tight grip on Simon’s collar, lips moving furiously, obviously having no clue how to kiss. Simon didn’t mind. He just didn’t want to stop. Baz’s eyes were squeezed shut. Simon didn’t know if he was in pain or trying to shut the world out. He hoped it was the latter. He wanted to shut the world out too. He wanted it to just be the two of them forever.

There were so many things he wanted to do with Baz. Like this; he pushed his hand through Baz’s hair. The smooth strands slipped through his fingers, just like he thought they would. He clenched his fist to better shove Baz’s face into his. Baz inhaled through his nose, then suddenly pulled back.

“Sorry,” Simon said. (He was out of breath. It was embarrassing.)

“No,” Baz sighed, “it’s alright. We should just...” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Everything isn’t on fire anymore, so we should talk.”

Simon felt the lump form in his throat. Part of him knew he shouldn’t be worried. Baz said he felt bad about what he said, he had kissed Simon back. But Simon was still scared. He felt like he’d just gotten Baz back. He didn’t want to lose him again.

But he nodded anyway. “Okay. Just, right here?”

Baz stretched his neck and rubbed his head. “No, this tree is very uncomfortable. Let’s sit against the cottage.”

“Okay.”

Simon stood up, but his legs were shaky. He used one arm to balance against the tree for a moment. Baz grabbed his elbow, keeping him steady. The lump in his throat lessened somewhat. His eyes flicked up to Baz, a small smile on his lips. Baz returned it. And Simon felt warmer than he had in a week.

They walked together to the now unscorched cottage, loosely holding hands. Both sat down together, shoulders against the wood, bodies turned towards each other. A long silence stretched out. Simon stared at their touching hands. At Baz’s fine bones and long fingers. He missed this. Not just holding Baz’s hand, but having him close. He felt better with Baz next to him. He meant what he said to Penelope. Here, holding Baz’s hand, he felt so _real._

“Hi,” he said, almost wistfully.

Baz chuckled under his breath. “Hello,” he said.

“I-It’s been awhile.”

“I know.”

Simon gripped him a bit tighter. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m sorry. For not telling you, about being a prince. And for what I said, when I left. I don’t want you to be alone. I never want you to be alone, I-I was just being stupid and pissed and that’s not excuse but I-”

“Hey,” Baz placed a hand on his upper arm, thumb sweeping over his skin, “it’s alright, I accept your apology. I just...” He sighed and lifted his head to meet Simon’s eyes. He looked both sad and confused. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve understood. At least, I would’ve tried to.”

“I-I know. Well, I know now.”

Baz mouth tensed for a moment. “Did you think I’d tell my captor? I wouldn’t have. I never would’ve.”

Simon shook his head vigorously. “No no, not like. I trust you, Baz, I never thought you would do that. Honestly,” Simon sighed, “it was really selfish. I just hate the way people treat me as a prince. Like I’ll smack them if they don’t call me ‘your highness’. Even my friends talk about my royal duties a lot. But you...you never had to know. I could forget I was a prince and just...be myself with you.” He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, it was stupid. I should’ve told you. You wouldn’t have treated me like that. I was just a coward.”

Baz put both hands over Simon’s. Their eyes met again. Baz didn’t look sad or confused anymore. He looked sympathetic, a small smile on his face, and Simon let out a breath.

“I understand,” he whispered. “It was a bad choice, don’t be mistaken. You should’ve told me. But I understand why. And your reason is better than what I assumed.” His face fell, but this time, he looked ashamed. “If we’re trading apologies, I’m sorry too, Simon. I was horrible to you, and you didn’t deserve that. I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t think you lied about your childhood, or were trying to trick me, or using me for fun. And I certainly shouldn’t have dismissed all the horrible things you went through. I felt hurt and I lashed out. Which is not an excuse either. I’m so, so sorry.”

Simon shifted closer, his knees touching Baz’s. “I understand. I forgive you too.”

Baz let out a very relieved breath, all the tension leaving his face. The air suddenly felt less heavy, and not just because the fire was gone. Simon smiled weakly at Baz.

“You’re sorry, I’m sorry,” he sighed over dramatically. “What a pair of sorry messes we are.”

That made Baz laugh. Just a small, breathy giggle mostly out of his nose. But it was everything. It made Simon grin and chuckle as well. Their forehead fell forward, pressed against each other. They laughed together in the small space between them. Simon reached up and cupped the back of Baz’s neck. Baz gasped and his eyes flew open. Simon immediately moved his hand off.

“Sorr-”

“No,” Baz breathed out. “No, it’s fine. Just...” His eyes flicked down, red spreading on his cheeks. “No one has ever touched me there, or like...that. Affectionately. Romantically...”

Simon’s own face flushed. He knew Baz was inexperienced, what with being imprisoned alone for years and all, but it was another thing to see him like this; looking down all blushy, being so adorably innocent. It made Simon smile so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Is it okay if I do?” Simon whispered.

Baz bit his bottom lip and nodded. So Simon slowly moved back towards Baz’s neck. He touched him again, finger by finger, until he was holding him again. Baz’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a long sigh. Simon closed his own eyes, letting himself sink into the feeling. Baz’s skin was tepid, and strangely smooth for someone who lived in the woods. Simon found that amusing. Black bristles of hair tickled his fingers. He ran his thumb over Baz’s sharp cheekbone. Baz squeezed his wrist. They sat like that for a long time, simply breathing each other in.

“I like this,” Simon said quietly, when he had the confidence to. “What we’re doing right now, I like it. And I...I liked kissing you too. A lot”

Baz giggled, breath ghosting over Simon’s skin. “So you didn’t just kiss me to get me out of my suicidal funk?”

He meant it as a joke, but Simon didn’t want it to be a joke. It was horrible. He held Baz’s neck tighter, shaking his head against Baz’s. “No, it wasn't that. I really wanted to. I’ve wanted to since the festival.”

Baz’s breath audibly hitched. He squeezed Simon’s wrist. Their noses brushed, sending sparks through Simon’s nerves. “So have I. Maybe even longer.” Baz moved his hand further up Simon’s arm. “And I like what we’re doing too.”

He said it, but Baz’s voice was slightly strained. Simon pulled back so he could see his face. Baz was half smiling, but his eyes looked pained. And Simon immediately knew there was something else tumbling around in his big brain.

“But...?” he said.

Baz sighed, using one hand to push hair from his face. “But, I’m still stuck here, indefinitely. If we do...this, being together, you’re tying yourself to someone who’s cursed. Wouldn’t you rather be with someone more normal?”

Simon let out a disbelieving laugh. He couldn’t help it. Baz’s brow furrowed, his mouth pulling into a frown. Simon beamed at him, rubbing Baz’s neck slowly.

“Baz,” he said firmly, “you don’t have to worry about that. I don’t want to be with anyone else. Because you’re one of the only, sometimes _the_ only person that I feel normal with.”

The pain went away from Baz’s face in an instant, replaced with a relaxed smile. He squeezed Simon’s forearm. “That, is the most eloquent thing you’ve ever said.”

Simon laughed again, and Baz quickly followed. Their foreheads tapped again. Simon’s hand moved across Baz’s face, ending with his thumb pressing just under his lower lip. The giggling immediately stopped. The air was heavy again, but with something different, something better.

“Can I kiss you again?” Simon asked before he lost his nerve.

“Yes,” Baz said immediately. “And you...you don’t have to ask. You just...can.”

Simon grinned, and leaned forward to kiss him. It wasn’t frantic this time. It was slow, languid. Of course Simon knew that Baz had never kissed anyone before, but it was a bit more obvious when they kissed slowly like this. He was hesitant and exploratory, trying to figure out what to do in the same methodical way he approached sword fighting. And like sword fighting, along with everything else he did, he quickly figured it out. He tilted his head just right, learned to slot his lips perfectly with Simon’s, and soon his movements became so confident it was like he’d been kissing Simon for a lifetime. Simon would happily have a lifetime of kissing Baz.

Once breath was scare, they pulled apart. Of course, that was when Simon yawned.

“You tired, Simon?” he teased.

“Fuck off,” Simon grumbled. “I was training all day then I had to stay up to come here.”

“Aw, you poor sleepy angel.”

Simon shoved Baz’s shoulder. Baz snickered and grabbed his hand. When he pressed his lips to back of it, Simon’s flush went down to his neck. Baz smirked. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. It was a relief to have their usual camaraderie back though.

“C’mon,” Baz said, tugging Simon to his feet. “You need sleep.”

Simon pouted, too tired to feel ashamed. “I want to spend time with you. I haven’t seen you in a week.”

Baz’s lip quirked up. “That’s very sweet, Simon, but you won’t have much fun when you’re exhausted.”

“I always have fun with you though.”

Baz sighed, exasperated but amused. “As do I. But you still need to sleep. So how about you sleep tonight, and we’ll have fun the next time you’re here, alright?”

Simon considered arguing more, but Baz had a point. And there was no point arguing with him. He was just as stubborn Simon. It was annoying and amazing. Simon couldn’t have found someone better for him.

“Okay,” Simon sighed. “As long as you help me up.”

Baz’s small smile turned into a beaming grin. “Gladly, love.”

He tugged Simon to his feet, and even let Simon fall against him, strong lean arms wrapped around his back and holding him up. Baz brought them both into the cottage and gently shut the door behind them. The cot was pristine again. (Vera must’ve taught Baz to make a bed well.) Baz pulled back the thick quilt. Simon collapsed on the cot instantly, sleep permeating his bones and mind. He let his eyes slide shut. Distantly, he heard Baz kneel next to him, pulling the blanket over his body with a free hand. Simon felt Baz’s cool lips be pressed to his forehead. He shuddered. Before tonight, no one had ever kissed Simon anywhere except his mouth. It seemed both of them were experiencing new things tonight.

“Goodnight, Simon,” he said softly, then started to stand up.

“Mm, no,” Simon whined and tugged on Baz’s hand. “Stay.”

Baz inhaled sharply. “I don’t usually sleep during the night...”

“Don’t care. Just want you to stay.” He tugged again. “Please?”

Simon could almost hear Baz thinking up there. He waited for what felt like an eternity, trying to resist sleep. But then he felt the blanket push back and the cot dip. He smiled and let go of Baz’s hand, but only so he could place it over his heart. It was beating wildly against Simon’s palm. There was a tiny bit of space between them, Baz’s arm resting lamely between them, and it felt too far away.

“You can touch me,” Simon said. “I don’t mind.”

Baz audibly gulped. “I, uh, I don’t know how.”

Simon laughed under his breath. He grabbed Baz’s arm and laid it across his side. He pulled him even closer, so Simon’s nose was almost against his chest. Baz was still hesitant, but he left his arm where it was. Simon traced a finger over his collarbone, touching the edge of his cotton shirt, brushing against his delicate silver chain. Bit by bit, Baz’s arm held him tighter, fingers pressing into his back.

“G’night.” Simon almost added _“I love you”_ to that, but there had been enough excitement for tonight. He would save those words for another time.

Baz pressed his nose into Simon’s hair. “Sweet dreams, Simon.”

And when Simon drifted off, his dreams were undistinguished, but they were made of light and happiness and warmth.

* * *

 

Waking up next to Baz was infinitely different than any other way Simon had ever woken up. He felt it all come into focus one by one. Baz’s arm on his side, his nose in his hair, their legs pressed against each other. It was like there was a wall between him and the outside world. Nothing could touch them. Simon didn’t want anything to touch them. He wanted Baz forever.

Simon sighed and gripped his shirt. Baz’s arm squeezed him.

“Good morning,” Baz said into his hair.

Simon pulled back to see Baz’s face. His eyes were half lidded, a small smile on his mouth. He looked like someone on the verge of drifting off.

“Did you sleep?” Simon asked.

Baz shook his head. “No. I told you, I don’t sleep at night.”

“So what, you’ve just been watching me sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Simon frowned sarcastically. “Creeper.”

Baz chuckled, pressing a kiss to Simon’s temple, and Simon all but melted into the cot. He was so happy. He never thought he could be this happy. And from the look on Baz’s face, he was too.

He pushed a curl from Simon’s forehead and sighed heavily. There was clearly something on his mind.

“What is it?” Simon asked.

Baz gently cupped Simon’s face, and Simon leaned into it. “I’m just realising, I never thought I could hate this curse anymore than I already do. But I do now.”

Simon’s brows pulled together. “Why?”

“Because,” he sighed, running his thumb just under Simon’s  eye, “the sun’s about to come up. And once it does, I won’t be able to stay here holding you anymore.”

Simon’s entire face turned tomato red. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. No words felt sufficient for the supernova exploding in his chest. Baz chuckled.

“Cat got your tongue, Simon?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

Baz kept laughing, so Simon grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down until their mouths met. Baz gasped, but quickly melted into it. His fingers were splayed against Simon’s cheek, his other hand against the small of his back. They kissed slowly, peacefully, like they had all the time in the world.

But unfortunately, the sun was coming up.

Simon pulled away with a small sigh. He looked out the small window to see the dark orange sky. He instinctively held Baz tighter.

“I have to go soon,” Baz said, voice breaking slightly.

“I know. But I’ll be back, and so will you. And...” Simon’s mind drifted back his rucksack outside, with the scone and the book. The book that might hold the key to Baz’s freedom. “And I found something out west that might really help with your curse. I’ll leave it here. You can read it tonight, if you want.”

Baz looked unsure, but he nodded anyway. “Okay. I’ll take a look.”

“Good, good.” He looked to the window again. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. The glow around Baz’s body started to show. Their time tonight was almost up. Simon’s gripped Baz’s hand tightly. He didn’t want to let go, not yet. “Um, I know you don’t like it when I see you as a swan, but...would it be okay if I stayed? For a bit? I-I’ll go when you’re asleep. I just, I want to stay with you for a little longer...”

Baz was quiet for a long moment, longer than was probably appropriate for the amount of time they had. His glow was getting worse. Simon didn’t let go of his hand, and neither did Baz.

“Okay,” he said, voice strained. “Just, stay in here until after the sun rises please?”

Simon nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

His grey eyes became unbelievably soft. He pressed a last kiss to his lips. When he pulled back, Simon chased his mouth, but Baz put a hand to his chest to keep him back. Simon let himself be pushed him back onto the cot. Baz stood up and walked to the door. His entire body was lit up now, minutes from changing. But he still took a second to look at Simon one more time. Simon smiled at him, and Baz smiled back just before he closed the door.

Simon flopped back on the bed, hand over his thundering chest. He needed a moment to catch his breath. So much had happened in less than twenty four hours. He and Baz were okay now. More than okay, they were together. Together in a way that involved soft words and kissing and everything Simon didn’t know he desperately wanted until Baz. Simon was grinning, he couldn’t stop grinning. He knew their problems weren’t over, but at least they had this. No matter what happened, they would have this.

The sunlight bled in through the window. Simon felt it was safe to get up. He slowly opened the cottage door, and opened it all the way when he saw the lake’s shore. Baz was sitting next to it, wings pulled in, neck still stretched up. His clothes were in a neat pile next to the door. Even though he had permission, Simon still walked toward him cautiously. Baz didn’t hop or fly away, so he took that as a good sign. He sat just next to Baz, knees pulled up and one hand on the ground between them.

“Uh, hi,” Simon said. “I-I don’t know what to say now, since you can’t really respond. With words...” Baz let out a series of little honks, which Simon assumed was the swan equivalent of a chuckle. Simon laughed and scooched closer. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” He leaned even closer, but still kept a reasonable distance “I know you want to sleep, I won’t keep you up. I just, I wanted to do this because I want you to know that I...care about you no matter what. Swan or human. If that makes sense.”

He looked down. But it was hard to read Baz’s emotions when he was a swan. Simon was worried. Baz could see it completely differently. He didn’t like being a swan, maybe he didn’t want Simon to care for him at all like this, because he didn’t care for himself like this. But Simon did, and he wanted Baz to know.

He scratched at the back of his neck. “Can I, um, can I touch you?”

Baz’s eyes met his. It was still that deep sea grey. No matter what form, his eyes were gorgeous. He nodded his small bird head once, and Simon let out a sigh of relief. Simon placed a hand between his wings, just laying it on his black feathers and silver chain. He didn’t pet Baz though. That felt rude. Baz wasn’t a wild animal, and Simon wouldn’t treat him like one. And Baz seemed content. He curled his neck around and placed his head on Simon’s hand, eyes sliding shut. Simon’s heart felt so full it was painful.

In that moment, he made a promise to himself; he was never going to lose Baz ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, aren't they cute? :) Yeah, I can't keep them apart for too long. Next chapter is the longest one in the fic, I think, and the knight and warlock fic is still in the works (that's going slowly because of my headaches unfortunately) so look forward to those! Hope you enjoyed this :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are better, but not exactly easier. So they need to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I woke up with a killer headache because God hates me, but I refuse to let my stupid genetics dictate my fics again. This is less of a pressure thing and more a pride thing so please don't feel bad, I'm just a stubborn asshole lol. This is the longest chapter in the fic. Enjoy :D

“You,” Penny said, “are in a good mood.”

Simon couldn’t deny that. In fact, he was too busy grinning and skipping down the streets of Watford Town to say anything back. (David was too busy preparing the winter ball to even notice him sneaking out at night or during the day.) He looked at Penny over his shoulder as he caught a pole and swung around. Penny barked out a laugh. “A _very_ good mood.”

Simon tilted his head back. “M-hm.”

Penny leaned against the cobblestone wall, arms crossed and lip corner quirked up. “You were moping around like a depressed kicked puppy just last week, and now you’re smiling brighter than the sun. Something good happened?”

“Yup.” Simon popped the P, staring up into the clear sky. He so wanted to see a particular blackbird up there, but he knew Baz was probably resting. And he’d see Baz tonight, like he had almost every night for two weeks. Nothing would keep him from that lake.

“So, what was it?”

“Hm,” Simon dramatically swung to the other side of the pole, “guess.”

Penny scratched her chin like a thoughtful scholar. “Hm, you ate a really good scone today?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not that.”

“You read a good book?”

“Nope.”

“Beat David in a sword fight?”

Simon scoffed. “I wish.”

Penny raised a brow. Simon had to ask her or Baz one day how they did that. Slowly, her eyes went wider and wider. “Did something happen with Baz?”

Simon bit the corner of his lip. He knew his cheeks were turning red, a now common occurrence since the last time he saw Baz.

“Aha!” Penny pointed right at Simon’s face. “Something happened with your cursed boy!”

Simon smiled wider and swung around the lamp pole with his head tilted back. He knew he looked ridiculous, like some lovesick fool, lost to the thoughts of his sweetheart. Except that’s exactly what he was. Might as well embrace it.

“Well? What happened?” Penny playfully knocked his shoulder. “Don’t just flit around, tell me!”

Simon wasn’t sure how he could explain exactly what happened. It would probably be quite confusing and scary to anyone else. But Simon didn’t want to lie either. It was a fine line to walk.

“Well,” Simon sighed, “turned out I left my wand at the lake that night. Took me way too long to notice, I know. So I went to go get it last week. But then I saw Baz and he was...really upset, so we talked. We figured stuff out, apologised, and now we’re good.” He pressed his burning cheek to the cool metal pole. “Really good.”

The brightness of Penny’s grin only matched the sun. She pinched Simon’s cheek like a proud granny. “Good. I’m very happy for you, Simon.”

Simon rolled his eyes sarcastically and swatted her hand away. “Thank you, Pen.”

He swung around the pole one more time then leaped forward. He was still aware of how ridiculous he looked. A few people were staring, probably wondering who the weirdo prancing around with an idiotic grin was. Luckily his headscarf kept him from being recognised and “embarrassing the royal family”. _Not much of a family when the father ignores his adopted son so much,_ Simon thought, _and- no, none of that._ Simon refused to think about David. Baz was safe, they were happy, nothing else mattered.

“So what are you two going to do about your engagement then?” Penny asked.

Well, that mattered.

Simon deflated, shoulders slumping as leaned back against a house’s wall. “Right,” he grumbled, “the engagement.”

Penny joined him, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “You forgot about that, didn’t you?”

“No!” Penny fixed him with a look over her spectacles. Simon deflated even more. “Maybe.” He sighed, playing with a errant curl falling from his headscarf. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been so wrapped up in Baz that I haven’t thought about it. I should’ve...”

“Yeah, it’s good to consider your future betrothal when you start snogging someone.” Her voice was simply oozing with sarcasm. Simon glared, while Penny grinned back. “So what are you going to do, Si? I doubt you’ll want to marry Agatha and see Baz on the side.”

Simon shook his head vigorously. “No, definitely not, that’s horrible.” He fiddled with his scarf. The thing was very useful for nervous tics. “I don’t know, Pen, we’ve both got so much else to deal with first. Baz is still trapped, and cursed. Those come first, right?”

Penny nodded. “Yeah, of course, but you also have to think about what happens after that, Si. Which to be honest, you’re not good at that.”

“I know,” he groaned. “But, what can I do? Agatha would be fine with breaking it off, but David is so set on this marriage because of his stupid lineage and dynasty bollocks. It’s not like David would let me marry Baz instead!” Simon’s face instantly turned bright red. “I-I mean, if Baz wanted get married, that is. He might not like marriage. Plus we’re only nineteen, young and shit...”

Simon flicked his eyes over to Penny. She was smiling with utter fondness, one lip corner quirked up and head tilted to the side. Simon looked down at the ground.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you’re still saying stuff! With your eyes and mouth and stuff...” He pulled further into himself. “Don’t like it when you make fun of me.”

“Aw, Si, I’m not making fun of you.” She looped her arm through Simon’s. “I just think you’re adorable.”

Simon was still pouting but leaned against Penny too. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re very welcome. And y’know, maybe we should ask Agatha if she could help with the whole engagement thing. You’re both in the same boat. Maybe she’ll have some idea on how to stop this dumb idea.”

“Hm, good point.” He looked down at her with a small smile. “Thanks, Pen. You’re really smart.”

Penny smugly flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Yes, yes I am. You should tell me that more often.”

Simon rolled his eyes very dramatically. If Penny got to do it, so did he. Penny snuggled even closer to him. But just over her head, something caught his attention. He gasped and poked Penny insistently.

“Pen, Pen!” he said. “Look! Flowers!” She turned where he was pointing. He started pulling her towards the vendor’s cart. “C’mon, I’m seeing Baz tonight, I wanna get him something.”

Penny willingly let herself get dragged her towards the nice man with the flowers. Simon marveled at all the multicoloured blossoms, dragging his fingers over the soft petals. “Which ones do you think Baz would like? He likes black, but there aren’t really any black flowers. These roses are pretty dark, I guess.” He looked over his shoulders at her. “What do you think?”

She had that face again, the one of fond affection. He didn’t get angry this time. Penny wasn’t making fun of him, not in a mean way. She patted his shoulder. “I think dark roses would be lovely for him.”

“Awesome!” He reached into his trousers, where his leftover festival money was. “A rose, please.”

“That will be ten silver pieces, sir.”

Simon’s jaw hit the ground. “Ten silver pieces?! That’s insane!”

The man shrugged. “It’s winter.”

“Not here! We’re in the south, we barely see snow!”

He crossed his arms. “Ten pieces.”

Simon put both hands on the cart. “Seven.”

“Nine.”

“Five.”

“Eight.”

“Four!”

They haggled back and forth for awhile. Just because Simon was a prince now didn’t mean he would be swindled. But in the end he paid six pieces, because he wanted the rose for Baz. And he was even more excited for tonight.

* * *

 

“Hi.”

Baz was already standing behind Simon when he turned around. All graceful height and sharp features, wearing his favourite black tunic and dark brown pants. Simon grinned and dropped his bag. He stepped into Baz’s space, throwing his arms around his bony shoulders. Baz instantly held his waist.

“Hi,” Simon sighed. “I missed you.”

Baz chuckled. “You saw me last night”

“Yeah, but I still missed you.” He brushed his nose with Baz’s, a sickeningly cute thing he never saw himself doing before Baz. “I always miss you.”

Baz’s arms tightened, and he smiled against Simon’s cheek. “I always miss you too.”

Simon could feel every beat of his excited heart sync up with Baz’s. He tilted his head to capture Baz’s mouth in his. They had gotten stupidly good at kissing over the past week and a half. Or maybe they were only good at kissing each other. Simon didn’t care. He wasn’t planning on kissing anyone except Baz anytime soon. Or probably ever. He wanted Baz to be it for him, and that desire only got stronger when Baz used his tongue like that.

They separated their mouths with a sigh, but hugged each other for a bit longer. The two boys were always reluctant to let go of each other. But eventually they had to part so they could see each other’s faces. Simon reached into his bag and pulled out the rose. He shoved in Baz’s face a bit too forcefully, making the other boy stumble back.

“Here,” Simon said. “I got this for you.”

Baz carefully took the flower, fingers curling around the stem. His lips were slightly parted in awe. He took a deep sniff and smiled softly, eyes meeting Simon’s. “It’s lovely, Simon. Thank you.”

Simon squeezed his hand. “You’re really welcome.”

Baz slipped the rose behind his ear, a burst of crimson against a backdrop of wavy raven hair. He tugged Simon towards the lake. “C’mon, let’s sit.”

They sat next to each other on the shore. One of Baz’s swan friends waddled up to them and put it’s head in Baz’s lap. They had gotten even more cuddly lately. Simon swore they were being possessive since he and Baz got together. Baz told him swans weren’t that smart and Simon didn’t have to be jealous of a bird. Simon had pouted angrily, which Baz had happily kissed away.

Simon leaned on Baz’s shoulder, clutching his arm close. “So how are you?”

“Just as well as I was doing yesterday,” Baz chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, stop being a smartass and answer the question, smartass.”

“You said smartass twice.” Simon pinched his wrist a little harder than was necessary. Baz snickered and lightly kissed the top of Simon’s head. “I’m good, love. I’ve been enjoying the spell books you brought me.”

Simon perked up. He’d left that book with Baz to give him a start with magic. Maybe they’d try that weird magic sharing trick again, but not until Baz got a handle on spells on his own. “Really? How’s it going?”

A devilish grin spread over his face, very pleased with himself. “Let me show you.”

Baz hopped to his feet and dashed to the cottage. (His swan friend honked and waddled back to the lake with annoyance.) He pulled Simon’s wand out from a bush next to the door. He stood a few feet from Simon, wand perfectly held in his long fingers.

 **_“Inferno,”_ **he said, voice practically dripping with power. It was scary how easily he spoke with magic. Simon would call him a prodigy if he had any authority on how good people were at magic.

Fire started spilling from the tip of the wand. Baz slowly moved it, tracing a swirling pattern in front of him. The fire stayed in solid, controlled lines as it danced across the air. Simon was captivated by every graceful movement. Soon, Baz had created an intricate lattice of flames. He twisted the wand off with a flourish, and the fire stayed, burning in place. Simon’s mouth hung open. It was truly a sight to behold.

“Whoa,” he whispered. “That’s incredible.”

Baz eyes were lit up by the fire. He looked so pleased, so excited. It was quite a far cry from the way he’d flinched when Simon had first told him he was a mage. Simon loved being around magic, sure, but he was never good at it. He could tell Baz enjoyed doing magic in a way Simon never had.

“And now...” Baz waved the wand again. **_“A storm upon us!”_ **

The fire vines exploded into a rain of orange sparks. They rained down on Simon like a shower of stars, not burning his skin, thank the gods. He let out a breathy laugh, catching bits of orange flecks in his hands.

“Amazing, Baz, that’s amazing.”

Baz took a deep, sarcastic bow. “Why, thank you, good sir.”

Simon wrapped his fingers around Baz’s delicate wrist and pulled him back down to the ground, kneeling in front of him. “No, really, it’s great. You’re getting way better. You’ll be casting circles around everyone in no time.”

Baz’s smirk morphed into a genuinely bashful smile. “Thank you, Simon. And thank you for giving me your wand.”

“I was happy to. You’re getting way more use out of it than I ever did. And it seems to like you more.”

Baz shrugged. “I suppose it has good taste.”

Simon shoved his shoulder. “Arsehole!”

Baz laughed, loudly and freely. He grabbed Simon’s arm and pulled him forward into a deep kiss, other hand cupping his cheek. Simon felt every single one of his bones melt. It was almost scary how quickly Simon fell apart under Baz’s mouth. How the rest of the world disappeared into dust every single time they kissed. Penny said that being in love could hurt. Simon supposed this was the good, not hurting part of it. And he liked it a lot.

They separated with a sigh. Simon turned around and leaned his head on Baz’s bony shoulder. Baz’s arms wrapped around his torso, pulling Simon until his back was pressed to Baz’s chest, long legs stretched out next to him. Simon felt safe here, Baz holding him close like he was the most important thing in the world.

“Are we asking questions now?” Baz said quietly. Simon shrugged, and Baz laughed. “Half your sentences are still shrugs.”

Simon pinched his wrist again. “You understand me just fine.”

“Hm, fair.” He snuggled closer, nose pressed into Simon’s shoulder “So are we asking things now?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Wanna go first?”

“Sure.” His arms tightened around Simon’s waist. “What’s it like being a prince?”

Simon’s eyes flew open, chest suddenly feeling quite tight. That was...not something he’d expected to be asked. They had been avoiding any deep discussion on the whole royalty subject since the first kiss. Sure, Simon mentioned getting bogged down by royal homework, but that was the extent of it. Which was somehow way more discussed than how to break the curse...

“Um,” Simon said as he scratched the back of his hands, “I don’t know. It’s...a lot of things. It’s better than the orphanage, and definitely better than the street. More food, better bed, not being cold all the time. I like that a lot. I wish all the people who grew up like me had that. But it’s also...weird. I’m supposed to rule the kingdom one day, but I really have no idea how. Like, even after so many books, when I’m given an policy problem I still don’t know what to do. I just never feel like I’m as smart or important as I’m supposed to be.”

Baz kissed the shell of his ear. “I think you’re smart and important,” he whispered.

Simon’s body felt like he was rising up and falling through the world all at once. He pressed his nose against Baz’s cheek. “Thanks, love. That means a lot. Honestly, I just, don’t have a head for it. And I don’t like how people treat me either.”

“How would that be?”

“Well, most people are either they’re afraid of me because I’m a prince, or they look down on me because they don’t think I should be a prince, being common born and all.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.”

Simon chuckled. “No, it’s not. It would be worth it if I was any good at...prince-ing and shit, and I wanted to rule. But I’m not and I don’t. David tries but hasn’t had any luck. He can teach me and even make my name all royal but it doesn’t make me a good future ruler.”

Baz craned his neck, letting Simon see his furrowed brow. “Your name? What do you mean?”

“Oh. I had a different last name, before I was a prince. It was written on my arm when I was left at the orphanage. But when David adopted me, he made me change it to his name. Said it was part of my past and I ‘needed to look my future.’ Which I guess is right, but still, it was my name for a long time...”

“What was it? Your name?”

Simon shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t laugh please?”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “Okay...”

Simon took another deep breath, fresh air filling his lungs and calming his nerves. “It was Snow. My name was Simon Snow.”

Everything was quiet for a moment. The only sounds were the whistling wind and the swans paddling in the lake. Simon didn’t dare look at Baz’s face. He wasn’t sure what his face would be. But when Baz let out a snorty laugh though, he knew exactly what his face looked like.

Simon elbowed Baz in the stomach and tried to wrangle out of Baz’s arms. “You said you wouldn’t laugh, you bastard! Fuck off, let me go!”

As a matter of fact, Baz did not let Simon go. He kept his arms tight around him and pressed giggling kisses to Simon’s neck. Which, much to Simon’s chagrin, did make him calm down. Fuck, it made him practically melt into the ground. Damn Baz and his stupidly wonderful mouth.

“I’m not laughing at you, love,” he whispered into Simon’s tawny skin. “It’s just...an incredibly adorable name.” He kissed the mole on Simon’s neck. He tended to treat it like a target. “Simon Snow is an incredible name. David should’ve let you keep it.”

Simon finally relaxed, leaning into Baz again. “Thanks, love. I wish I could’ve kept it too.”

Baz nosed just under Simon’s jaw. “You could still have it.”

“Hm?”

“I mean,” Baz squeezed him just a bit tighter, “I can certainly call you after a cold weather phenomenon that we barely see in our part of the country.”

“Arsehole,” Simon muttered, trying to elbow Baz again. But when Baz kissed his mole again, he went limp. Damn Baz for finding his weakness.

Baz hummed against his skin. “I’m serious. It’s a good name. I’ll happily call you Simon Snow.”

Simon’s heart felt like it was growing in his chest, so it could contain all the incredible feelings he was having. The gratitude, the affection, the deep love he had for Baz that he’d never felt for anyone ever before. The kind of love that maybe could maybe break a curse.

Simon pressed his lips to Baz’s temple. Just the shortest peck that he hoped conveyed all his feelings. “I think I’d like that.” he whispered.

Baz kissed his temple in return. “Good to know, Snow.”

Simon groaned at that goddamn rhyme. “Okay, now I’m regretting telling you.”

“Too late, Snow, you already did.”

He groaned again, and Baz silenced him with another deep kiss. He weaved his fingers into Simon’s hair, tugging lightly on the curls. Simon gasped into Baz’s mouth. That was another weakness Simon never knew he had before this relationship. He worked his hand behind Baz’s neck, rubbing his fingers over his smooth skin, and Baz shuddered. Baz had his own weaknesses, and Simon was eager to learn and exploit them happily.

Baz then buried his face back in Simon’s shoulder. Simon looped his arm around to run his finger through Baz’s soft hair.

“Is it my turn to ask?” Simon said.

“Mhm,” Baz mumbled into his tunic. “Ask away, Snow.”

Simon sighed, because groans felt like too much effort right now. “Alright.”

Simon twisted his lips, rattling his brain for a question. Deep down, he wanted to ask about Swan Lake, but he felt like Baz would bring it up if he wanted. He had the book, he could bring it up when he felt ready. Simon didn’t want to risk bringing it up and Baz shutting down or yelling at him. But there was another thing he could ask.

“What do you want to do?” he asked. “When your curse is broken, what do you want to do?”

Baz went very, very still. Like how Simon did before, but worse. His arms fell away from Simon’s waist, which had Simon very worried. He spun around to face Baz. His pretty, sharp face was almost stone. Though his lips kept going in and out, pulling between his teeth then pushing out. Simon knew immediately he had said the wrong thing.

Simon put his hands over Baz’s. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I-”

“No, no, it’s not a bad question,” Baz said. “It just brings up things I’ve been feeling for awhile. Things I should probably tell you.”

Simon shuffled closer, trying to ignore the nervous beat in his chest. “O-Okay. You can tell me anything, it’s okay.”

Baz sighed and squeezed Simon’s hands. “Simon, let me be clear, I do want to be free of this lake and go to all the places I fly over. But...” Simon braced himself for what came after that but. “But ever since you told me you were going to break the curse, I’ve been thinking about...where am I going to go?” Simon’s heart sank to the ground at Baz’s tiny, almost broken voice. “This lake is all I’ve known for most of my life. I don’t know if I have family out there, anyone who would take me in once I’m out of here. I don’t even have a last name to track them down with. Am I just going to wander the streets, telling the stories of my former cursed life for coins?” He somehow sighed and chuckled at the same time. “I don’t know. Breaking the curse is important, but I’m wondering about the after too.”

Simon had gotten used to feeling like an idiot throughout his life. But now felt like his crowning achievement of stupidity. And he felt even worse for making it about himself in his head. Of course Baz would be worried about where he was going to go after. He always thought ahead, unlike Simon. He focused on breaking the curse and setting Baz free, full stop, nothing else after. That wasn’t right. Baz would still be around after the curse.

“Right,” Simon blurted out. “Right, right, t-that makes sense. You’re right. I’m sorry I never brought it up, that matters a lot. You’re going to have to live somewhere after here. Have clothes and money and a job and-”

“Simon,” Baz sighed, bringing their hands up between them. “It’s alright, stop babbling.”

Simon looked at the ground. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Snow, I just need you to calm down and listen to me, please.”

“O-Okay.”

Baz tilted his chin up with one hand. To Simon’s surprise, he didn’t look mad. Simon would be mad. But Baz wasn’t, he just had that forlorn half smile.

“Simon,” he said softly, “you don’t need to panic. I’m not mad at you, alright? You’ve been helping me so much, and I’m grateful for that. I just think we also need to think about where I’m going to go when I’m free too.”

Simon nodded, weaving his fingers with Baz’s. “Yeah, yeah, okay, we definitely should.” A playful smile pulled at his mouth. “Maybe you could come live at the castle with me.”

Baz chuckled, shaking his head. “What, just show up one day and tell the king you’ve brought home a nameless stray?”

“You’re not nameless.”

“I’m lacking a last name.”

“That doesn’t make you a nameless stray. You’re still important.”

Baz’s face softened. He brought a hand to Simon’s face, cupping his jaw and running a thumb under his eye. “Thank you, Simon.” He kissed the corner of Simon’s mouth, electric jolts flying through the Simon’s skin. “But still,” he sighed, “I don’t think you can just bring me to the castle. You said the court already has their problems with you. I would add to them.”

Simon grumbled. He knew Baz had a point, even if he didn’t like it. Part of him wanted to propose to him right then and there. David would have to accept a betrothed, right? Except he was still a prince, who was about to be engaged to a noble lady. All that was still in the way.

“Maybe,” Simon said slowly, “we could try to find Vera? I mean, she raised you for eight years. She might be willing to help.”

Baz twisted his mouth, finger drumming on the back of Simon’s hand. “Maybe. But I have no clue where she went after I was cursed. He put the curse on me, I passed out, and when I woke up, she was gone. He probably put a spell on her memory too. Doubt I could walk up to her like, ‘hello, Vera!’, and she’ll reply, ‘oh hello, little puff, you’ve gotten so tall!’”

Simon froze, every muscle locking while his vision spun. Baz was still laughing to himself, but Simon didn’t hear him. His head was buzzing with distant memories from his restless nights. And how different they were now.

“What did you say?” Simon asked quietly.

Baz quickly stopped laughing. His brow furrowed at Simon’s dumbstruck expression. “What? ‘You’re so tall’? I have grown a lot since I was thirteen.”

Simon shook his head vigorously. “No, no before that. What did Vera call you?”

“You mean ‘little puff’? It’s ridiculous, I know. It was just a silly pet name she had for me.”

“And she called you that? A lot?”

“Um, yes.” Baz’s hands moved up Simon’s forearms, grip strong and comforting. “Are you alright, Snow? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Simon gulped. He flexed his hands, trying to build up his nerves. But he felt them crumble with every swipe of Baz’s fingers on his skin. Eventually he realised he’d never had enough nerve, but he had to do this anyway. Baz deserved to know, especially if this was about him.

“Okay,” Simon said, trying to will his voice steady, “I need you to listen to me and try not to judge me. Because you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m not. And you need to hear this.”

Baz blinked many times. He was still holding Simon, but his body pulled away slightly. “O...kay?”

Simon nodded, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. He told Baz of his dreams, in the order Simon was pretty sure it actually happened. He focused on the big parts, since details were lost in the dream’s haze. Baz was obviously trying to stay calm, but Simon could feel his grip tightening on Simon’s hips, and saw his grey eyes slowly getting bigger. It made sense. This was a grip tightening, eyes widening worthy sort of story in Simon’s opinion.

“And the thing about all this is...” Simon took a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut. “When the boy is first looking for his mum, he talks to another woman, and she calls the boy ‘little puff.’ S-So...now I’m thinking the boy, he might be...you. And I’m seeing your past.”

Simon slowly opened one eye. Baz was staring at him, lips slightly open, blinking slowly. His hands fell from Simon’s waist, and Simon’s heart stuttered in fear. Part of him was terrified he’d hurt Baz. He never wanted to hurt Baz. He thought Baz deserved to know, but from the look on his face, maybe he didn’t want to.

“Are you sure she said that? Little puff?” Baz asked. Simon nodded slowly. “It wasn’t something else?”

“I-It’s a pretty distinctive nickname...”

“Yes, it is, I suppose.” He chewed on his bottom lip, face pinched together in pain or worry or anger. Simon couldn’t tell. “And you’re sure you saw a lot of fire? Like the whole world was burning?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m sure.” Baz’s face tensed even more. Simon grabbed his shoulders. “But maybe she didn’t say ‘little puff’. I-I could be wrong. Dreams are weird, I might be misremembering.”

Baz pressed a finger to his lips, instantly halting Simon’s stuttering speech. “No, it’s not like that, Simon. I’m not upset because it might be me. I’m just surprised, because...I’ve dreamed of some similar things.”

Simon’s eye nearly popped out of his skull. His grip on Baz’s shoulder tightened. “Really?”

Baz nodded, hands moving to Simon’s waist, trailing up and down his sides. “I’ve had nightmares all my life. They feature a lot of fire and running _from_ fire, along with some other vague things. I always thought it was just deep seated fears coming up in sleep. But if you saw the same things along with hearing ‘little puff’ in these dreams, maybe I’m actually remembering my life before here. I don’t know, it could be a coincidence. We might not be dreaming of the same things.”

An idea instantly came into Simon’s head. “Wait, hang on.”

Simon extracted himself from Baz’s embrace and dashed to his rucksack. He pulled his leather bound, now almost full sketchbook. When he turned back, Baz was looking at him very, very confused. Simon cautiously sat in front of him cross legged, close, but not as close as they usually were now. Simon wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to be now.

“Here, look,” he said, flipping to the right page, “I drew what I saw in the dreams. Does any of this look familiar?”

Baz slowly flipped through the pages. Most of it was there. The boy playing with puzzle, the woman who called him little puff, walking down the large corridor with banners and paintings, the tunnel of flames, running through the fire, seeing the mother being choked by the man, and ending with boy watching his home burn down from over the man’s shoulder. Baz examined each image with his careful, inquisitive eyes. Slowly, his head started nodding.

“Okay,” he said quietly, “this all does feel distantly familiar. Maybe it really is my past.” He looked up at Simon, perfect brows pulled together. “And you’ve been seeing all this through visions? That’s a thing?”

“Yeah, it is, sort of. Some mages can get flashes from the future in dreams, and sometimes they can be of the past. It’s rare but it happens. My magic is...weird. It might be letting me see the past. Your past...”

Baz traced a finger over the page. “That makes sense, I suppose.” He stopped at the shadowed face of the mother, struggling to breath under the man’s arm. “So, it seems I did have a mother. She’s just already dead...”

Simon went to his knees and shuffled forward, placing a hand on Baz’s knee. “W-We don’t know that for sure. You apparently lived, maybe she did too. Maybe-”

“Simon,” Baz sighed. The look on his face was sad, tired, and Simon unfortunately knew exactly what he meant. He understood. False hope was a far too dangerous thing. Simon moved his hand up Baz’s arm, hoping his touch offered the same comfort he felt from Baz’s.

“I’m sorry, Baz,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Baz rubbed his lips together, mustering up the words. “I...I’m not sure what’s better or worse; wondering if I even had a family before, or knowing for sure I did but they’re gone.”

“You don’t know they're all gone,” Simon blurted out. “You don’t know if your mother was your only family. Maybe you have a father, or grandparents, or other relatives.”

“Then why haven’t they come looking for me?!”

Baz’s voice was vicious, filled to the brim with venom. He wasn’t being reasonable, obviously. He was smart, he must know that. No one would think to look for their missing child in a hidden lake in the middle of the Forbidden Lands. But Baz wasn’t being reasonable right now. He was twisted up in anger, hurt, and obviously a monumental amount of sadness. Most of all, he probably felt abandoned. How could he not?

Simon cupped his cheek. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “It’s okay that you’re not.”

Baz let out a breathy chuckle. “You’ve said that before.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Baz nodded, a morose sort of acceptance in the motion. “I know. Thank you, love.”

Simon lowered his forehead onto Baz’s, eyes closed. Baz did the same, hand curled around the back of his neck. Simon could feel Baz’s breathing and pulse calm down under his touch. That made him glad. He didn’t want Baz to be upset. He wanted Baz to be happy too. Maybe he could...

“Baz,” he said softly, pulling back a bit, “I can do something, but only if you want.”

Baz cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? You have to tell me before I can agree.”

Simon flushed, resisting temptation to flick him in the face. “Yeah, I know. What I mean Baz is...I can look for your family. Try to find them for you.”

Baz’s eyes went so wide they looked like glassy full moons. “You can really do that?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re a mage, and the crown keeps are records and stuff on mages. And there are a lot of mage families, sure, but how many had a woman die in a fire where her five year old kid also went missing? Your past really narrows things down, actually.”

He blew air out of his nose, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. “I suppose it’s a pretty unique situation”

Simon nodded with his own tiny smile. “Yeah, exactly.” He cupped Baz’s beautiful, sharp face with both hands. “Do you want me to look? I won’t if you don’t want me too. But, it could mean finding somewhere for you to go, when you’re uncursed.”

Baz placed his hands over Simon’s, eyes squeezed shut. Simon wondered what was tumbling through that big brain of his. Part of him wanted to ask Baz about Swan Lake, wondering if Baz would let him try to break it the way Siegfried had tried. But Baz said he wanted somewhere to go. Maybe they had to deal with that first before Simon even asked about breaking it.

Finally, Baz nodded, some of the tension leaving his face. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Simon pushed closer.

“Okay, you can look for...my family, if they’re around.”

Simon grinned. His heart was beating in his ears with happiness. He wrapped his arms around Baz in a crushing hug. “I’ll find them, Baz. I’ll find them for you.”

Baz hugged him back, one hand pressing the sketchbook hard into the small of Simon’s back and the other woven through his curls. He didn’t speak for awhile, just clutched Simon to him. And Simon let him. He’d let Baz hold him forever if he needed to.

“You draw me?”

Simon’s eyes flew open. He whipped his head around over his shoulder. Baz had Simon’s sketchbook open to a sketch of himself. It was incredibly detailed of course, making it obvious Simon had spent hours dedicated to drawing Baz’s face. Simon’s cheeks immediately went bright red. Embarrassment was always his first instinct with art, especially since this one was more detailed than his rough nightmare sketches.

But then he looked at Baz. Baz’s eyes were wide, his thin lips slightly open in wonderment. He was...impressed. And suddenly, Simon’s embarrassment faded, replaced with a sense of pride he’d never really felt for his art before.

“Um, yeah,” he said, voice still a bit shaky. “I do, sometimes.”

Baz’s own face went red. “Huh, well, it’s uh, it’s quite good. You’re good.”

Simon grinned ear to ear. There was something satisfying about making sharp tongued, clever Baz stumble for his words. He kissed Baz’s flushed cheek. “Well, you’re fun to draw.”

Baz chuckled. “Well, maybe I can be a painting model once I’m out of here.”

“Mm, you’d be a good one.”

“Maybe you have a point.” He flipped to a few other pages. “Hm, you draw me quite a bit. You think I’m that pretty?”

Simon snorted and twisted himself around, head once again on Baz’s bony shoulder. “Good Gods, you need me to stroke your ego even more?”

“Well, it would be nice.”

Simon rolled his eyes, a perfect Baz imitation. “Arrogant prat.”

Baz laughed as he kissed Simon’s neck, making Simon melt once again. “An arrogant prat you draw all the time.”

 _Yeah,_ Simon thought, _because I love you. And the second I find your family, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell the world and set you free._ He tilted his head and pressed his mouth to Baz’s. Baz sighed and leaned into it. Part of Simon wondered if he’d ever get tired of kissing Baz, if it was even possible to get sick of the incredible feeling of Baz’s lips on his. If that was going to happen, it wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Simon pulled away and spun around, back to leaning on Baz’s chest. Baz kept one arm around his waist while holding the sketchbook in his other hand. He flipped to another page with a flick on his thumb. It was of the palace grounds at sunrise, with Ebb in the foreground, standing with her goats. Baz tapped her charcoal silhouette.

“Who’s this?” he asked.

“Ebb, she’s a friend,” Simon said.

“Is she herding the goats?”

“Yeah. She’s the goat herd on the grounds. I talk to her all the time.”

“You’re friends with the palace goat herd?”

“M-hm.” He furrowed his brow. “Is that weird?”

“No, of course not. It’s just...very you.” Simon wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. But considering the way he nuzzled Simon’s with his nose, he guessed it was a good thing. “Want to tell me more about her? Your friend Ebb the goatherd?”

“Uh, sure, if you wanna hear about her.”

“Of course. I’d like to know all about the friends of the man I’m snogging.”

Simon groaned, head falling back on Baz’s shoulder. “Wish I’d never taught you that word.”

Baz grinned against his cheek. “But you did, Snow.”

Simon groaned again while Baz howled with smug laughter, filling the whole lake with that glorious sound. Simon kissed him again to shut him up again, and of course it worked. When they parted again, they kept looking through Simon’s sketchbook together. He told Baz about the different landscapes he’d drawn, about the abstract doodles from avoiding homework, about Agatha and Penny, whose portraits of course were in there. And Baz listened to every word.

* * *

 

Simon thought after the solstice festival, he was good at dancing. But it seemed he was good at dancing with Baz and absolutely no one else. Considering how many times he’d stomped on Agatha’s toes.

“Ouch,” Agatha hissed.

“Sorry,” Simon said.

“It’s alright, S- your highness.”

“Try again,” David said from his place above them on the dais. Lady Wellbelove stood beside him, all proper and stern, except for the smallest smile on her lips. She was obviously amused but couldn’t let the perturbed King know.

Simon nodded and David signaled the one violinist he’d brought to start the dance tune again. The notes drifted through the air, and the pair of teenagers started again. Their feet moved slowly but surely on the marble floor. Simon tried to picture Baz in front of him instead of Agatha in hopes it would make him better. But he still clipped her toes with every other step, then stumbled and stepped on them some more. Eventually, David let out a long sigh, and waved at the violinist to stop.

“Enough,” he groaned. “This is becoming embarrassing.”

Simon stepped away from Agatha, looking at the floor, hands clasped behind his back. “Apologies, Father.”

“What have I told you, Simon? Don’t apologise, do better. And I expect you to be better by the winter ball, understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Now escort the young Lady Wellbelove back to her guest room.”

“Of course.”

Simon offered his arm to Agatha, which she graciously took. They bowed deeply to Lady Wellbelove and the King, then took their leave out the grand double doors. The second they were out of view, Simon and Agatha let go of the stupid noble pose. They held hands like the old friends they were. Agatha even wrapped her other hand around Simon’s upper arm. And Simon knew this was how they were truly meant to be.

“Good Lord,” Agatha sighed, “that was hellish. Is that what David is like when he teaches?”

Simon chuckled, leaning his cheek on Agatha’s head. “Most of the time, yeah.”

“Ugh, what a nightmare. I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“Neither do I. How are you, Aggie?”

She made a strange noise of discontent. “I’m alright. But I’m not looking forward to this damn ball.”

“You’re not alone in that feeling, Ags.” Simon bit the corner of his bottom lip. “And...there’s another reason for that too now...” He internally groaned at his phrasing. He wanted to tell Agatha about Baz, but he didn’t meant to bring it up in such a stupid sounding way.

Agatha raised her eyebrow. (How was everyone except Simon able to do that perfectly?) “Oh and why would that be?”

Simon placed his hand over her’s on his arm. He chewed his bottom lip even more furiously. “Well, remember that drawing of my friend you saw?”

“Of course. He was so pretty.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “he certainly is.” He scratched nervously at the back of his neck, chewing at his lip. He wasn’t sure how to say this, but might as well five straight in. “And you were, uh, you were right about him. How I...feel about him that is. And he feels the same.”

Agatha gasped, then made a sound so high pitched only hounds would be able to hear her. Simon winced but still smiled. No matter how painful her sounds were, Simon was glad that she was excited for him.

“Simon! That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!” She captured him in a fierce side hug, forcing Simon to halt as she squeezed him tight. Luckily there was no one else around. He patted her hand.

“Thanks, Ags.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you worked that all out, Si.” They went back to hand holding, Agatha’s cheek pressed into his shoulder. “So you’re happy?”

He leaned on her head again, soft blonde hair tickling his skin. “Yeah, definitely. Which...” he sighed, “is the other reason this engagement sucks.”

Agatha groaned, a very unladylike sound that would leave her mother clutching her pearls. “Ugh, yeah. As if we needed another one.”

“True enough. Penny says we should work together to try to stop it.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Simon shrugged up to his ears. Agatha sighed and pulled him closer. “Yeah, I don’t have great ideas either. It’s not easy fighting a king. I don’t know, I could talk to my parents. They’re getting frustrated with demanding Davy.”

“Really? He’s being that bad?”

Agatha nodded with a deep scowl. “Oh yeah. He wants to control all the terms of the engagement and marriage. And he’s being very stingy on the dowry. It’s ridiculous. My parents would be screaming at him if he wasn’t the King.”

“Good gods,” he groaned, “didn’t know he was being that bad. Maybe you can convince them to drop all the engagement stuff.”

“I bloody well hope so, for all our sakes.” She squeezed his arm once with a sigh. “Personally, I think you should just run off into the sunset with your lover.”

Simon barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no. David would send the entire army after us before we hit the Watford Town border. And don’t say ‘lover’, that’s a weird word.”

“What else am I supposed to call him? Partner? Pretty boy? Your secret snog?”

Simon rolled his eyes while Agatha snickered. “I don’t know, just not ‘lover’. That’s makes us sound like some shit romance book characters.”

“Hey, fuck off, I love romance books.” She knocked his shoulder, he knocked back, and they giggled to themselves in the echoey halls.

They finally reached Agatha’s guest room, stopping in front of the grand wooden door. Agatha faced him and held both his hands. “I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy, Si. I hope we can find a way for you two to be together.”

Simon squeezed her hands. “Thanks, Ags. I hope we can both get out of his bollocks. You deserve to be happy too.”

Agatha’s grin was bright, rivaling the sun. She leaned up and lightly kissed Simon’s cheek. He kissed hers in return. Once the door was shut, Simon made a beeline for the royal library. If the Mage family records were going to be anywhere, they’d be there.

* * *

 

Simon groaned as his forehead fell on the table. The thunk echoed loud in the empty, dark room. The books were spread out around him like an explosion of uselessness. His single candle was down to a dark orange glow. It would be pitch black soon, and Simon still hadn’t found anything.

“Hello? Someone still in here?”

Simon’s head snapped up. He recognised that voice. “I am, Ebb. What are you doing up here?”

Ebb stepped out from behind a bookcase. She was in her usual sweater and holding a candle. Her smile rivaled the brightness of the flame when she saw Simon.

“Good evening, Simon,” she said. “The King sometimes asks me to do a quick sweep of the wings before bed, since I’m up late anyways. I was curious about the sound, but I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“It’s fine, I’m just...reading.” _With no success,_ he grumbled internally.

“Yes, I can certainly see that. Your candle is burning low, want me to guide you back to your room?”

Simon shook his head and weakly waved his hand. “No no, it’s fine. I still have more reading to do. I’ll find my own way back later.” He looked at his pathetic nug on a candle. “Well, after I find a new candle. There are more in the upstairs cupboards, right?”

Ebb gave him a sort of withering look. Simon was used to that expression. He guessed it was some sort of odd mix between proud and exasperated. She reached down and switched their candle holders, taking the almost dead one.

“Here,” she said softly, “Have mine. You’ll be able to read longer.”

Simon looked up at her with wide eyes. “N-No, it’s alright, you don’t-”

“Please,” she waved her hand dismissively, “I’m going to bed soon anyway. It’s my pleasure, Simon.”

“You-you don’t have to,” he sputtered. “If it’s just because I’m the prince...”

“Oh come on, Simon, you know me. I don’t care for that bollocks.” She reached forward and touched his hand. Simon almost jolted away on instinct, but stayed, because her fingers were calloused and warm and kind. Simon wished more people in and out of the castle were willing to treat him like this, like a friend. “Let’s call it a repayment for all the times you kept me company with the kiddies.”

Simon opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again. He just smiled at her. “Thank you, Ebb.”

She smiled and nodded back. “You’re welcome, love.”

They nodded at each other, and she left, a dim glow fading into the darkness. And Simon was once again alone.

He looked back down at his books, and groaned again. All these big fancy books with big fancy words, and not a single useful thing in them. There was nothing about the death of a mage woman in a fire or a missing child, or even the two events happening close together. In fact, the mage family records had nothing about children named Basil or Baz. Not even kids with names starting with a B. It was ridiculous. Simon assumed this would be simple. Obviously, he had been very, very naive.

“Maybe there’s more in the back,” he mumbled to himself,

He snatched up his candle and ventured back into the dark tunnels of the shelves. They felt particularly looming at night. Like towering mountains of fine dark wood and old leather. Simon didn’t get scared that often, really, but it was hard to not be scared when he was alone in the dark. He wished Baz was here, holding his hand, whispering soft words to him. He always felt safe with Baz.

Simon hadn’t ventured this deep into library yet, but he’d cleared off all the other shelves, so this was his last, desperate option. He hovered the candle over the book spines. They were _extremely_ dusty. Obviously no one had been here in ages, and it was no wonder. These books looked even more boring than usual. Lots of stuff about farming and old kingdom maps. Simon searched for keywords. “Records”, “histories”, “family tree”, “tragedies”, but there was nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing

Simon felt stupidly desperate. He looked for something, anything that might tell him about mage families. He scanned without thought, eyes flying over the books. Suddenly, his eyes fixed on a slim volume. It looked newer than everything else, and there was no dust on the shelf in front of it. Maybe someone else took this book a lot. Maybe it was useful. Simon immediately grabbed it. He pulled it forward, and something nicked his finger.

“Ouch!” he yelled, voice echoey in the large, empty room. He looked down at his finger. Blood welled from the tip. Simon frowned and put it to his mouth. It wasn’t very effective but it at least made him feel better. (That was about half of Simon’s life, honestly.)

And then there was a loud click.

Simon took three huge steps away, back pressed firmly against the opposite shelf. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “What the fuck?” he hissed.

There was some more loud clicking and clunking of a large mechanism. Simon was frozen as he listened to hidden gears turning. They groaned like a giant ogre. (Or what Simon assumed a giant ogre sounded like.) But just as suddenly as it started, it stopped, leaving Simon in a brief reprieve of silence, save for his panicked breaths. Even weirder, the shelf just to his left started creaking. He swept his candle over to it. His eyes went wide. The shelf had moved. It was slightly pushed in. Simon slowly stepped forward, and pushed on it lightly. It went in even more, and Simon saw the glint of something just beyond it.

“What?” he whispered.

Curiosity overwhelmed him. He pushed harder, and the whole shelf moved inwards. Simon brought his candle further in. His eyes went unbelievably wide. The candlelight illuminated parts of the floor, where what could only be described as treasures were spread out. Golden candelabras, fine china plates, brass sculptures, ornamental pieces that belonged on manor walls, not store in a hidden strange cupboard. Simon walked past all these beautiful pieces, his jaw falling further and further with every step.

“What in the Gods’ names is all this?” he asid, voice loud in the tiny room.

Something caught his eye. It wasn’t metal or china, it was bright and colourful. Simon went to his knees in front of it. He lifted his candle higher, looking over the whole thing. The light showed what was obviously a chipped picture frame containing a vibrantly coloured portrait. It looked beautiful but far too small. Like it had been magically shrunk to something hand sized. Simon picked it up and blew the dust off. He looked closely, narrowing his eyes.

There were two people in it, a woman and a little boy. They were dressed in fancy clothing with lots of embroidery and jewels. The woman sat on a plush red chair, back perfectly straight, head held high. She was graced with tumbling dark curls and a tiara made of brilliant silver and rubies. Her dress was the same shade deep blood red as the chair with intricate swirls of black. She wasn’t smiling, because no one smiled in portraits. Simon had learned that very well when his portrait was done. But she didn’t look sad. She looked strong, elegant, powerful.

The boy on her lap was clearly her son, or at least had some relation to her. Their matching skin tones and hair colour made that clear. He was young, with adorable big chubby cheeks and tiny hands folded on his lap. He sat on the woman’s leg, one arm supporting his back. His matching red child tunic was just as fancy as her dress, fancier than anything Simon had at that age. A silver circlet rested on his small head. He looked just as regal as the woman. They were obviously some sort of nobility, or even royalty. Simon’s eyes flicked to the bottom of the portrait. There was an engraving in tiny shrunken letters. Simon strained to read them.

 _Her Majesty, Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch of Watford, long may she reign._ _  
_ _His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch, may he thrive._

Simon’s mouth fell open slightly. So this was Queen Natasha and Prince Tyrannus, the previous royal family who died tragically. He’d never seen them before. All portraits of them had been destroyed when the previous castle burned.

Something clicked into Simon’s brain. Puzzle pieces fitting together, things falling into place. No, it was more like an explosion, like going off but in his brain. Simon clutched the frame far too tightly his knuckles went white. He felt stupid, even more so than usual. He looked extremely closely at the young prince’s face. The prince who couldn’t be more than five in this portrait. Who had wavy raven hair, reddish-gold skin, and deep sea grey eyes.

“Baz?” he whispered into the emptiness. As if there was any question about it left in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha, the twist everyone probably saw coming lol. But what are the repercussions of this? Well, y'all are gonna have to wait until next week to know. See you guys then :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon seeks the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy this chapter is weird, be warned. Just remember is that we may know what's going on but no one else does. Hope you like this :D

“I’ve started working on wind control,” Baz said. “I think I’m getting better. You were right, elemental magic is good general practice.” He flicked his wrist and created a mini tornado, tiny green leaves dancing through the sky.

“Cool,” Simon replied, voice distant and unfocused, just like his mind. Fuck, his mind was so far away it could be considered in a foreign traveller in a neighbouring kingdom. He was still reeling from what he saw last night.

The portrait was currently in the deepest, darkest corner of his closet after Simon spent hours studying it. And many hours and days later, it was still so clear. That boy looked _exactly_ like Baz. Which would make Baz a prince. _The_ prince. Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch, late Heir of Watford, who supposedly died in a fire. Just like the one Baz was taken from as a child. Like the one that killed his mother. Like the one that killed Queen Natasha.

On the surface, it made perfect sense. All the pieces fell together to paint a perfect picture. But it was so fucking insane. How could it be true? Baz, his wonderful and strange cursed boy, actually the dead prince. More noble than Simon ever was. His brain still couldn’t process it.

“Snow? Simon, are you there?”

Simon’s head snapped up. Baz was standing over him. When had he gotten so close? Had Simon been that lost to the world? “Huh?”

“You alright, love? You seem a bit out of it tonight.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just...thinking.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

Simon rolled his eyes and tapped his ankle in lieu of an actual kick. “Shut up, arsehole.”

Baz chuckled and put a hand on his hip. A few strands of black hair fell in his grinning face. He looked beautiful. He was perfect. He should know that.

“You’re really amazing,” he blurted out.

Baz’s face did a strange thing. His head pulled back and his lips slightly parted. Simon was never good at reading people, but that seemed like shock and awe. Was Baz awestruck by such a simple statement? He had to know that. He had to know Simon thought he was the most infuriatingly perfect man in the world.

His smirk returned, awe washed from his face. “Why thank you, Snow, I appreciate you stating the obvious.”

He was playing it off like a joke, but it wasn’t. Simon needed him to know how important he was. Long lost prince or cursed boy, he was so fucking incredible. Simon grabbed Baz’s wrist and yanked him down to the ground. Baz wobbled but found his balance on his knees, looking down at Simon with confusion. Simon took him by the back of the neck and kissed him firmly. Well, it was more just him shoving his mouth on Baz’s, no finesse or moving his lips the way he’d learned to over the past weeks. He didn’t want finesse. He wanted to somehow push his feelings into Baz, make him understand how much he cared just through their mouths touching. And when Baz pushed back, Simon wondered if Baz wanted Simon to know the same from him.

They separated with a small breath. Simon held his face tightly, thumbs dragging over his sharp cheekbones. The same cheekbones Natasha Grimm-Pitch apparently had. Simon was so conflicted. He of all people knew how terrible it was to be a prince. But...

“You really want to find your family,” he whispered, “right?”

Baz blinked at him. He sat back on his legs, wand placed carefully on the ground.He had that annoyingly attractive smirk again. “Well, it would be nice to know if I just manifested out of the aether or not.”

“Baz,” Simon half groaned, half sighed. “Please, just...actually answer.”

Baz squeezed his lips together. Simon tried to smooth out the worry lines on his forehead, but it was to no avail. Nothing short of a professional healer could probably soothe out that tension. But Simon tried anyway. He wanted Baz to feel better.

“I do,” Baz said, his voice a choked, small whisper. “I...I think I want to know if there’s someone out there that misses me.”

“I miss you,” Simon blurted out, almost defensive in a way. “I always miss you.”

Baz let out a breathy chuckle, hot air caressing Simon’s face. “I know, love. Thank you. I do appreciate it. It’s just, it’s not exactly the same. If I had a family, I must’ve disappeared on them. And I...I think, I want my absence to have been noticed. I want to know if someone...wants me to come home.” His voice broke slightly as he said it, and Simon’s heart crumbled at the sound. He was so vulnerable and open. Simon just wanted to hold him and protect him forever.

“And I need somewhere to go too, I suppose,” he laughed. “That’s just being practical.”

Simon wrapped both his arms around Baz, pushing Baz’s forehead into the crook of his neck. Baz hugged him back, bunching Simon’s shirt in his grip. He stroked Baz’s hair slowly. He wasn’t sure if he needed the intense comfort, but Simon would give it to him anyway.

Eventually, Baz pulled back, a half smile pulling at his mouth. He looked calmer. And that made Simon feel infinitely better.

“Let’s stop being all deep and sad, please,” Baz said with teasing lilt. “I want us to just be happy for once.”

Simon grinned and tucked a piece of hair behind his pointy ear. “Sure. I’m always happy around you though.”

Baz kissed a mole on his cheek. Simon noticed he liked to kiss that mole. It never failed to make his face flush. “I’m happy around you too.” He pulled back, wand pointed up. “And I want to show you this.”

He quickly jumped to his feet and held the wand to the sky. **_“A cold winter’s night.”_ **

There was a small crack of thunder, then Simon felt something chilly and wet tickle his nose. His face scrunched up. He looked up, and felt more cold touch his skin. Simon’s eyes went wide. He held out his hand, and little flecks of white fell down, decorating his palm. He laughed breathlessly.

“It doesn’t snow here,” he said under his breath. “It never snows here.”

“Never say never, Snow,” Baz teased. “You must know by now nothing is impossible for us.”

Their eyes met between the falling powder. _Yes,_ Simon thought, _you’re right, nothing is impossible for you. Because you’re incredible and so strong. And you deserve to know that people miss you, even if it means having to possibly give you a burden like mine._

Simon stood up but immediately fell against Baz, head resting on his shoulder. One of Baz’s strong arms wrapped around his waist. They held each other in the soft snow. Baz was so solid and comforting. Simon stood in the cold shower and hoped that once Baz knew, this wouldn’t end in flames.

* * *

 

Simon banged on the door as nicely as he could. He was impatient, but he wanted to stay on Penny’s good side. He especially needed to right now. And soon enough, the door swung open, with Penelope Bunce on the other side.

“This is becoming repetitive, Si,” she said, but she was still smiling.

“What, you don’t want to see me?” he asked

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, arsehole, you know I do.” She waved him inside and closed the door behind them. “But recently, every time you come to my door, you drop some sort of weird question or astounding revelation on me.”

Simon chewed on his lip. Well, he knew this was going to be weird. Now it was just going to be weirder. “Yeah, about that...”

Penny let out a loud sigh and threw herself on the couch. “What is it now, Si? Is Agatha turning into a dragon? Have Baz’s eyes gotten prettier?”

“Uh, no,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Actually...it’s a bit more serious than that. And a bit more real.” He plopped him on the couch next to Penny, rucksack in his lap. “I found something, and I need your help proving I’m not crazy.”

Her brows pulled together. “Okay...”

Simon took a deep calming breath, then opened his rucksack. “I was in the library late at night, researching stuff, trying to find Baz’s family, so he has somewhere to go after the curse is broken. But I didn’t find anything, so I decided to try going further back. And something...weird happened. I found this secret room with lots of expensive stuff in it. I also found this.”

Simon pulled the portrait out of his bag and shoved it at Penny. She jolted back, blinking rapidly. She took it cautiously and adjusted her glasses, examining every detail. “Okay,” she said slowly, “this is definitely noteworthy. I didn’t think that any of portraits of the Queen survived, let alone one of the Prince.”

“Yeah, I know, so did I. But also, the thing is...it took me a second to figure it out, but...” He reached over and tapped Tyrannus’ small, pudgy face. “That kid, looks exactly like Baz.”

Penny’s eyes went incredibly wide. “Wait, you mean...”

“I think Baz is Prince Tyrannus,” he blurted out.

Penny looked at him with a gaping mouth. “You think, that your cursed lover boy, is the dead son of Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch?”

Simon nodded slowly, fiddling with shaking hands quite a bit. “Y-Yeah, I think he is”

“But, Simon, the prince is dead! He died in the fire!”

“Yeah, yeah I know, Pen, but just hear me out.” He turned to Penny and looked her right in the eye. “Baz was kidnapped from a burning building when he was five. Someone took him and killed his mother, probably the same guy who cursed him. Maybe Prince Tyrannus was taken from the burning palace and everyone just thought he was dead. And that’s Baz.”

“But Prince Tyrannus isn’t _missing,_ ” Penny grumbled. “He died along with Queen Natasha in the fire. And how do you know all this about Baz and a fire? Does Baz really remember all these details from when he was five?”

Simon rubbed at the back of his neck, shrugging up to his ear. “Uh, Baz doesn’t remember that well. I actually...dreamed about all of it. Psychic visions and all that...”

Penny gave him a very particular look over her glasses. Simon recognised it from school when they were studying and he said something dumb or impulsive. “Simon, dreams aren’t reliab-”

“I know,” he groaned. “But I’ve been having them over and over for months. And they’re super consistent. And in it, a woman calls the boy I see ‘little puff’. That’s what Baz’s old caregiver called him. It’s too unusual to be a coincidence. And Penny, just look,” he pointed insistently at the picture again, “Baz looks _exactly_ like the prince. Same hair, eyes, skin tone. They’re bloody identical!”

“I guess so...”

“You’ve seen Baz, Pen. Can’t you tell?”

“I’ve only seen him once, Si! From behind a mask and a headscarf! I mean, I’ll take your word for it, I trust your judgement.” He ran her thumb over the fancy frame, twisting her lip. “But, from what you’ve said about him, I don’t think this and your dreams will be enough to convince Baz he’s a bloody lost prince.”

“Yeah, I know. Which is why I was hoping I could look through your library. Your parents have stuff from before the castle burned down, right?”

Penelope sighed, then pushed herself to her feet. “Yes, most definitely. For once it’s probably good my parents are literary pack rats.”

She offered her hand, and Simon gladly took it, letting her pull him up. “Thank the Gods for book hoarding teachers.”

They both chuckled as they walked up the stairs together. The Bunce family library sat right next to Mitali and Martin’s bedroom. It wasn’t that big, and certainly wasn’t big enough to hold all their books. There were so many ceiling high shelves that you couldn’t see the walls. Simon had to tiptoe around precarious stacks of volumes and loose papers. Penny was already standing at a shelf, eyes scanning over the books.

“So what should we look for, Si?” Penny asked. Simon shrugged, and his friend glared. “We can’t sort through _everything,_ Simon. We need somewhere to start.”

Simon scratched the top of his head. He asked himself, _where would Baz start?_ “Um, how about stuff about the fire? I never learned any specifics about it.”

“None of us did, Si. King David took it out the history curriculum. He doesn’t want us to remember there was a royal family before you and him.”

Simon made a “humph” noise. King David and his bloody crown, always fucking everything up for him. “So there are no history books on the fire?”

Penelope shook her head. “Probably not.”

He twisted his mouth, rattling off possibilities in his head. So nothing made after the fire would have information it. But, what about something from when it first happened? Before David was in power. “Was there an announcement? Right after the fire happened?”

There was a pause. Simon wondered for a moment if he’d said something wrong. But then he heard a rustling, and when he turned around, Penny was on her knees, looking through a stack of scrolls. Simon stepped over book stacks to stand next to her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Well for one, thanking the Gods that my parents insist on keeping every town wide proclamation in case the royals try to contradict themselves,” she said. “Also, you’re a genius, Simon Snow, bloody genius.”

Simon blushed and shrugged. “Thanks, Pen.”

She kept sorting through the pile. Simon leaned down and helped her. Most of the scrolls had a green wax seal with a sword imprinted on it, the crest of House Owens. He tossed those away immediately. But once they made it through the top layer, the seal was a red flame, the symbol of House Pitch. Simon opened them and scanned the words as fast as he could. Most of them were boring. Tax increase this, district redraw that, blah blah blah. But then he found the words “tragic passing”. He hit Penny rapidly on the shoulder.

“Pen, Pen,” he said, “I think I found it.”

Penny scooted closer to him. Simon slowly unrolled the old paper. Luckily, the ink was still solid enough to read.

_ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE KINGDOM OF WATFORD: TRAGIC PASSING OF THE QUEEN AND CROWN PRINCE_

_August 2nd, 1102_

_It is with heavy hearts that the Royal Court of Watford must announce the tragic deaths of Her Majesty, Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch, and His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch. Both sadly perished in the disastrous fire that destroyed Watford Castle. The Queen and Prince are survived by His Royal Highness, Prince Consort Malcolm Grimm, and Lady Fiona of House Pitch. The castle shall be rebuilt in due time. The Court shall handle all royal duties until a new ruler is crowned. A vigil shall be held in Watford Town Square in two days time to honour the late Queen and Prince. May they both rest in peace._

“Pretty standard stuff,” Penny grumbled. “Poor Lord Grimm and Lady Pitch, though. They’re stuck up pricks, but they didn’t deserve to lose their whole family.”

Simon’s brow furrowed, contemplative frown pulling at his mouth. “1002,” he said slowly. “We would’ve been five then, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Baz is the same age as us. He would’ve been five when Watford Castle burned down, the same age he was brought to the lake.”

Penelope’s face scrunched up. Not on confusion though, more in thought. “You know his birthday?”

“Yeah. February 24th, 997.”

An toothy grin spread across her face. It was how she looked whenever she solved a problem. “Si, if there was a royal proclamation of the Prince’s death, there has to be one of his birth.”

Simon grinned as well. He grabbed her face and put a big wet kiss on her forehead. “You’re a genius too, Penelope Bunce.”

“Thank you, thank you. Now let’s look.”

They sorted through the scrolls again. It was harder now that they were in the Grimm-Pitch ones. Simon had to look over each one before tossing it away. It made everything take twice as long. What a weird thing to complain about.

“Got it!” Penny shouted. “I got it.”

Simon leaned over her shoulder as they read the words.

_ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE KINGDOM OF WATFORD: BIRTH OF CROWN PRINCE_

_February 25th, 997_

_It is with great pride that Her Majesty, Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch and His Royal Highness, Prince Consort Malcolm Grimm announce the birth of their son, His Royal Highness, Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch. He was born late last night at a healthy weight with no complications. Her Majesty is perfectly well after the birth. Prince Tyrannus shall be officially declared Heir to the Throne of Watford in one week’s time. Long may he thrive._

“Wait what’s this?” Simon asked, furiously tapping at the bottom of the page. Unlike the other announcement, there were two large symbols stamped on the bottom of the page. One was clearly the flames of House Pitch. But the other was familiar in a different way; it was of three wheat stalks on a field.

“Um.” Penny brought the parchment closer, squinting her eyes. “I think that’s the crest of House Grimm. They’re descended from farmers, it makes sense.”

Simon tapped it even more insistently. “That symbol, Baz, he-he has it, he has it!”

Penny looked at Simon like he was a few tarts short of a banquet. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I-It means, Baz he, he has this necklace, he’s had it his whole life. It’s got his birthday on one side, and on the other is this symbol. And you say it’s the crest of House Grimm. So that means...”

“He might have some connection to House Grimm,” Penny said, voice quiet, completely disbelieving.

“Like it being the house of his father!’ Simon bounced to his feet, nearly knocking over some book stacks with his waving arms. “This is it! It’s the same birthday, his necklace symbol. It’s proof that Baz is the prince!”

Simon felt like he was buzzing with delight. And he wanted Penelope to be jumping for joy like him. But she looked unconvinced. In fact, she looked almost sad. Simon immediately deflated.

“You don’t think so,” he said, voice bordering on a whine.

Penelope sighed and looked at Simon with sympathetic eyes. “I want to, Si, I really do. But, I just can’t get past one thing.”

“What?”

“The prince is _dead.”_ She held up the first scroll towards him. “Look at the proclamation, Si. Tyrannus was uncategorically called deceased, after a horrible fire! Why would he be declared dead if he was just missing? Wouldn’t Lord Grimm, Lady Pitch, and everyone else in the bloody kingdom want to have hope that the son of Queen Natasha and heir to the throne was alive?”

Simon opened his mouth to argue, but unfortunately, Penny had a point. They wouldn’t declare a crown prince dead if there was a chance he was alive. “Maybe they made a mistake?” Simon said nervously.

“About the heir to throne?”

He shrugged. “Well, it’s possible, right?”

Penny fiddled glasses, mouth shifting back and forth. “I guess. The person who examined the bodies might’ve mistaken someone else for the prince.”

“Who examined the people after the fire?”

“The court physician, I guess.” Penny’s eyes went wide. She lifted her eyes to meet Simon’s. “Who’s still Lord Wellbelove.”

Simon grinned once more. His heart was beating so fast he could hear the blood in his ears. Everything felt electrified. Even his skin somehow tingled. Hope was such a strange, wonderful sensation. “We have to go see Agatha.”

* * *

 

“Remind me again why we need to get into my father’s office?” Agatha said as she fiddled with the keys. Simon and Penny stood behind her. They were all very lucky Lord Wellbelove was with Lady Wellbelove, both of them stuck in another meeting with King David. They had to hammer out final terms before the winter ball tomorrow. It sounded like hell. Simon hoped to save all of them from that hell very soon.

“It’s a very long story,” Simon said. “And I promise to explain it all to you later when everything calms down.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Simon gave her his brightest, kindest smile. And thankfully, Agatha just sighed and shook her head. “Alright. I trust you, and I'll hold you to that full story later.”

Simon pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, Aggie, you’re the best.”

Agatha made a “yuck” noise and wiped her face. “Yes yes, I know.” The key finally turned, a loud click resonating down the stone hallway. “And I’m the keymaster too.”

She pushed the door open. The hinges squealed like a rat’s who’s tail had been stepped on. Penny used her ring to light the torches along the wall. Lord Wellbelove kept a very organised office, thank the Gods. His oak desk was immaculate, with notepaper, a quill, and ink. Shelves were filled with identical versions of brown leather journals. The cabinets were labelled with initial ranges of what Simon had to assume referred to patient names.

“Your father is a neat freak, I see,” Penelope said, taking a torch to scan over the perfectly alphabetized files.

“Yeah,” Agatha sighed. “Something about ‘tidy room, tidy mind’, I think. Don’t ask me, my room looks like a tornado hit it.”

“C’mon, c’mon, we have to look!” Simon said. He threw open the filing cabinet drawer, flipping through the papers as fast as he could without messing it up.

Agatha stood over him with one hand on her hip. “And what the hell _are_ we looking for, Si?”

“Uh, anything about the big palace fire. The one that killed Queen Natasha and Prince Tyrannus.”

“Oh, alright. You can check those files, but I doubt you’ll find anything about that in there.”

Simon spun around, looking up with her with utter confusion and desperation. “Why not?”

“Because,” she sighed, “he wouldn’t be able to keep a record that sensitive, the Court would take it. But even you wouldn’t be able to get into the Court records. They’re under heavy magical lock and key. Father is always complaining about it when he wants to learn from old cases.”

Simon’s whole body and soul deflated. “Oh. That sucks.”

“But,” Agatha walked towards the shelf of leather bound books, “I bet my father made notes in his journals. He’s obsessive about those things.”

“Yes, yes!” Simon suddenly felt alive again. He scrambled to his feet and followed her. “I remember, he was even writing in it during our graduation ceremony.”

Agatha sighed as she ran a finger over the journal’s spines, each branded with a date range. “Exactly. Mother and I were ready to kill him that day. What date are you looking for?”

“Uh, August 1002.” And like it was sent from the heavens, Simon saw that exact month and year stamped on the journal right in front of him. “Like this one says!”

He plucked it off the shelf and rushed over to the desk. Agatha stood behind him while Penny sat on the desk. Simon furiously flipped through the pages. It was a bit hard to read Lord Wellbelove’s chicken scratch writing (like Simon was one to talk). But soon he saw the word “fire”, and stopped dead.

_August 10th, 1002, Final Conclusions from Palace Fire_

_After a thorough examination of the debris, I can conclude that Queen Natasha and Prince Tyrannus were the only deaths from the fire. Everyone else suffered mild to severe injuries, but are recovering well. Final conclusions:_

_H.S Queen Natasha O. Grimm-Pitch: Death by asphyxiation, most likely from smoke inhalation, body burnt but recognizable_

_H.R.H Prince Tyrannus B. Grimm-Pitch: Assumed deceased, body most likely too buried beneath too much debris_

_Despite the Prince’s body being unfound, Lord Grimm has said there is no hope his son is alive. He is too grief stricken and morose to continue. Agreed with King Presumptive David to cease debris search. Tyrannus will be declared officially deceased. My findings will be put in Court records. Hopefully the prince’s body will be found one day so I can examine it properly._

Simon’s jaw was firmly on the ground. And the ground felt like it had fallen out from underneath him so he hit the centre of the world. He read the words over and over, but it stayed the same. The proof before felt like poor, dirty scraps compared to this.

“Holy shit,” Penny whispered, “his body was never found.”

“Yeah,” Simon said, voice shaky.

“Why is that important?” Agatha asked as she leaned on Simon’s shoulder.

“It’s, uh, part of that long story, Ags.” Simon twisted his head to her. “Think your dad would notice if this journal went missing for a couple days?”

Agatha shook her head. “Definitely not. He’s too busy right now, he hasn’t been in this office in days. And I really do expect a long explanation later, Si.”

“Of course, of course.” He squeezed her hand with a big smile on his face. “Thank you, Agatha.” He looked back at the journal, and something caught his attention. He tapped Penny’s knee. “Pen, look, the Prince’s middle initial.”

He held up the journal to her, tapping his name. She took it and squinted, then chuckled under her breath. “Wow, that’s...quite the coincidence. It’s just an initial though. Agatha, do you know what the Prince’s full middle name is?”

“No, no clue. My father would know, I guess, but he’s still in the meeting with King David”

“Dammit,” Simon grumbled, picking at his nails. He wanted to see Baz tonight, before the Winter Ball. Before this damn engagement was announced before every member of the court.

Simon’s head bolted up. “Aren’t Lady Pitch and Lord Grimm here today? For the ball tomorrow night?”

“Um, they should be,” Agatha said. “No clue where they are though.”

Simon snapped the journal shut, the sharp sound reverberating in the quiet room. “I might know. And I have to talk to one of them.”

“Well, I have to get to work,” Penny said, jumping off the desk. She put a comforting hand on Simon’s arm. “Good luck with all this, Si.”

Simon squeezed her wrist. “Thanks, Pen.” He stood up and immediately pulled Agatha into a tight hug. She hugged him back, though with a bit of hesitation, which Simon understood. She had no idea what was going on, but she was willing to help him anyway. And he really loved her for it. He would tell her absolutely everything later. “Thank you, Aggie. You’ve really helped.”

“Welcome, Si,” she said. “Whatever this is, I hope you solve it.”

He chuckled as he pulled back. “Me too. I gotta run. I’ll see you later, alright?”

She nodded and delicately patted his shoulder. “You certainly will.”

Simon nodded back, then dashed out through the door. He had a vague idea where he wanted to go. And weirdly enough, his vague ideas were usually helpful. Hopefully this one was too.

* * *

 

Simon was damn tired. He’d been wandering the guest wing for almost half an hour now and still no sign of Lord Grimm or Lady Pitch. Lord Grimm was probably holed up somewhere. He was notoriously anti-social at these sort of events, only coming out of obligation, and Lady Pitch wasn’t much better. Simon barely knew what Lady Pitch looked like, anyway. She made a point of coming to the castle as little as possible, and was probably only here after begging from Lord Grimm to be there for support during the Winter Ball. Simon guessed she looked like Queen Natasha and Baz. But even if that was true, this castle was so _huge._

He turned a corner and slumped against the wall. This felt hopeless. It seemed only fair that after so many victories he’d get one defeat. It was just sad that he had come to a screeching halt this close to the end. This close to what he hoped was the final confirmation, the last clue that Baz was Prince Tyrannus, that he had a family. All he needed was to talk to one of the Grimm-Pitches. If only they weren’t so dark and mysterious and hard to find. Cook Pritchard was a Pitch cousin or something right? Maybe that would be easier. Maybe his feet would hurt less.

“This place is disgusting,” a woman’s voice grumbled. “Malcolm owes me big time.”

The voice’s owner turned the corner Simon was hiding in. She was a bit shorter than Simon, with reddish-gold skin and black hair, save for a single stark blonde streak. Simon caught a glimpse of her deep sea grey eye.

“Lady Pitch!” he shouted, rushing towards her.

Lady Pitch jumped and spun around, eyes wide and hands in a defensive position. Her mouth morphed into a scowl she fully took in who Simon was. She put a hand on the hip of her black trousers. (She was also known for openly flouting social conventions, especially when it came to clothes.)

“Well,” she growled, “if it isn’t Davy’s little exploding orphan princeling.”

Simon instinctively pulled in on himself. “Y-Yeah, it’s me. It’s an honour to meet you Lady Pitch, we’ve...never met me before, I think.”

“No. Because I didn’t want to.” Simon flinched slightly. She took a step forward, looming over him even with her lesser height. “Why are you bothering me, princeling? Don’t you have another family’s dignity to steal?”

“Um, I, uh, I, have a question actually, that I think you could answer, maybe.”

“Oh? I thought the Pitches had nothing to offer except taxes and a ready made kingdom for your father to snatch.”

Simon rubbed his burning neck. “Uh, he’s not technically my father...”

“Whatever,” she spat. “Your _adopted_ father. Doesn’t change that you’re his heir and lackey.”

“Y-Yeah, I guess...”

She took another menacing step forward, both hands on her hips now. “So, what in the gods’ names would you want from me? Or do you get off on wasting my damn time?”

Simon gulped. And he thought Baz could be intimidating. He clutched the journal to his chest, the closest thing he had to a security blanket right now. “I wanted to ask you something about your nephew. Prince Tyrannus, I mean.”

“I only hav- _had_ one nephew, princeling,” Fiona growled, arms crossing over her chest as she shoved her face forward. “Why the Hell do want to know about him? Your King has made it his mission to erase my sister and nephew from history. Looking for some way to resurrect their memory so you can desecrate it?”

Simon violently shook his head. “No! No, of course not, I-”

“Then what? Think my dead family is a fun little curiosity for you to play with?!”

“No! Just...” He took a deep breath. He was this close to blurting out the truth, but that would probably make Lady Pitch even _more_ angry. She would accuse Simon of lying, and that was obviously incredibly counter productive. He took another breath and kept his eyes shut, focusing on his words. “I’m...I’m not like King David. I don’t want to forget the past. I-I want to learn about it. And from what I know about Queen Natasha, she’s someone I could learn from. I could learn from her ideas. And Prince Tyrannus was only five when he...died. He doesn’t deserve to be forgotten, I-I think.”

Simon looked at the ground as the silence stretched between them. It filled the space with an invisible weight the crushed Simon’s lungs and dried out his throat. Eventually, with a lot of built up courage, Simon lifted his head. Surprisingly, Lady Pitch didn’t look angry. Her eyes were narrowed, mouth a thin line. It was critical, but not in a malicious way. Just a curious way, trying to figure Simon out. Simon was familiar with that look. From Penny, from Baz, from lots of people trying to understand him. Few people did. He hoped Lady Pitch would be one of them.

“What do you want to know?” She asked, voice biting. But she still asked.

Simon let out a small sigh of relief. His grip on the journal loosened. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me before you ask, I may not have the answer. Now ask me your question before I change my mind.”

Simon nodded vigorously. “Right, right, sorry.” He rubbed at his neck, gulping before mustering up the words. “Uh, I was looking at old stuff about Prince Tyrannus, and I noticed that he was sometimes called ‘Tyrannus B. Grimm-Pitch’. So I was wondering what the B stood for...?”

The silence resumed. Lady Pitch didn’t look critical though. Instead, she looked very, very confused. “ _That’s_ what you want to know about? What my dead nephew’s middle name was? Really?”

Simon’s cheeks heated up. He went back to clutching the book. “Y-Yeah, I was just...curious. I can’t find his full name. He...he seemed like a nice kid. I was wondering what his full middle name was...” Lady Pitch was still looking at him like he was insane. Simon’s entire face was flushed. “N-Nevermind, I’ll just go now. Thank you for your time, Lady Pitch.”

Simon spun on his feels and started speed walking away. This was a dumb idea. He had enough proof anyway. This was just some sort of stupid desperate act for one more confirmation, he supposed. He didn’t need to know. He-

“Basilton.”

Simon stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. Lady Pitch was still standing there with arms over her chest. But she didn’t look angry, or sad, or anything really. Just neutral. Which was honestly better than the other options.

“What?” Simon said stupidly. He was still processing.

“Prince Tyrannus’ middle name,” she said with a hint of bite. “It was Basilton, or Basil for short. That’s what we in the castle usually called him. Does that answer your question?”

Simon stayed frozen for a moment, but once his brain came back to life, he nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, thank you, very much.”

She didn’t say you’re welcome. Simon didn’t expect her to. But she did nod once, and that was the closest Simon knew he’d get to those actual words. “Hope you end up being better than Davy, princeling.”

“Uh, I’ll try.”

“Good.” She turned on her heels and walked away. And that was that.

Simon let out a long breath, resisting the urge to collapse to the floor. He was both filled with relief and buzzing with excitement. That was it. That had to be it. There was absolutely no denying it; Prince Tyrannus was not dead. He was very much breathing, cursed but otherwise well. And he damn well wouldn’t be cursed for much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiona would've probably fought Simon right there if she could lol. Hope you liked that! I know this is a weird chapter. I'm nervous about publishing it. It was originally linked with chapter 14 but then it would've been like 27 pages long so I had to split them. I might publish chapter 14 a bit early, depending on how much of my essay I get done. Either way, see you guys next time :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon brings what he's found to the lake, and has a plan to fix it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so my essay has been kicking my ass. Editing this has been a nice break. Hope you guys like this :)

Simon hopped off the dirt wall. Much to his surprise, and slight disappointment, Baz wasn’t there waiting for him. Instead, Baz was standing in front of the lake with his back to Simon. He was waving the wand like a conductor's baton, making water dance in slow streams in front of him. The swans on the lake were honking loudly in confusion.

“Calm down, all of you,” Baz said, exasperated but also amused. “It’s just some magic, you panicky little twits.” They kept honking, flapping their large white wings. “Gods, once again, I wish you all could actually understand me when I’m human.”

Simon’s heart was melting out of his chest and dribbling into his boots. He straightened his bag straps over both his shoulders and walked towards Baz. He put his arms around Baz’s waist, and after weeks of this, Baz didn’t even flinch when he did. He simply leaned his head back on Simon’s shoulder, sighing against his ear.

“Good evening, love,” he purred. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hi,” Simon replied. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Working on water spells, I think I’m getting better.” He made a figure eight motion, and the water followed perfectly. It still wasn’t as smooth as his fire work but it was certainly improving. In almost three weeks, he was doing better than most first year mage students after six months. Simon was so damn proud.

He squeezed Baz’s waist. “You’re doing amazing.”

Baz turned his head and pressed his cool lips to Simon’s cheek. “Thank you, darling. How are you doing?”

Simon subtly gulped, and realised he was holding Baz a bit tighter without thinking. “Yeah, uh, actually, I have to talk to you about something...and we should probably sit down for it.”

The water in the air immediately dropped with a resounding splash. The swans squawked very angrily at Baz. Simon had no idea if swans could say curse words, but if they could, they’d probably sound like that. Baz was completely stiff in Simon’s embrace. He lowered his wand hand slowly, arm ramrod straight. Simon couldn’t see Baz’s face, but he had a feeling he looked very, very cold.

“Baz? What’s wrong?”

“Simon,” he said, voice like the most biting frost, “if you’re going to end this, I’d prefer you just get it over with.”

“What?! No, no!” He dashed in front of Baz. Heartbreakingly, Baz’s face was stone, completely neutral and unfeeling. Simon hated when Baz looked like this, like a complete statue. He cupped his sharp cheeks. “No, Baz, I’m not ending us. I promise, I’m not.” Baz still looked unconvinced. Simon held him tighter. “Baz, it’s...it’s about your family. I think I found out who they are, who you were, before here.”

Baz’s face went from stone to complete shock with a twinge of happiness. His free hand flew up to grip Simon’s arm a bit too tight. “Really? You’re serious?”

“Yeah. I promise. I make jokes but I wouldn’t joke about this, Baz.” They both chuckled, and Simon felt incredibly relieved. But...he still had to tell him. “You’re going to want to sit down though.”

Baz furrowed his brows. It was painfully adorable, but Simon couldn’t get distracted. “Okay, if you say so.”

They sat down together, simultaneously crossing their legs, knees touching. Simon put his rucksack in his lap. He took many deep breaths. Baz was looking at him very strangely, almost on this side of amused. Simon hoped he would still look at him like that after.

“So, uh,” Simon said, “I looked through the mage family records, but couldn’t find anything. But then I went to the back, and I-I found this weird room, and I found, well, this.”

Simon pulled the portrait out of his bag and shoved it at Baz. He was a bit taken aback, but still took the painting from him. He scanned over it carefully, analysing like Penny did with it too. Simon felt his palms get more sweaty with every passing second. But Baz didn’t shout or cry or anything. He just looked perplexed.

“Okay,” he said, “it’s a nice portrait. I’m not sure why you’re showing it to me though.”

Simon tried to suppress a groan. It wasn’t Baz’s fault. Simon hadn’t explained, but he wasn’t looking forward to doing it. He barely knew how to start. He leaned up on his knees, pointing at the people in the picture. “This is, uh, the royal family, before David and me. That’s actually Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch, the author you love.”

Baz’s lips quirked up. “Oh. It’s good to finally put a face to the admired name.”

“Y-Yeah. And that,” he moved his finger to the little boy, “is her son, her only child, Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch. They both, uh, they died a long time ago.”

“Well, that’s morose. Still don’t know why you’re telling me about them. Or how they have anything to do with my family. Am I some distant cousin of royalty? That would be interesting.”

Simon took a very long, very deep breath. He needed to muster up every ounce of courage he had for this. Because he was scared, he was worried, he didn’t want Baz to be mad at him. But in the end, this wasn’t about him. This was about Baz. His future, his family, his escape from this hell. And he wanted to know he had people who missed him.

“Baz,” he said firmly, “I think you’re Prince Tyrannus.”

For a long, long moment, the only sound was the wind whistling in the trees and the swans softly paddling the water. Simon kept his eyes squeezed shut at first. He needed to centre himself, make sure he was calm before talked to Baz again. He had to be Baz’s rock in this insane storm. But once he was ready, he slowly opened his eyes, and looked at Baz. And well, Simon didn’t know what else he expected.

Baz looked completely, utterly, shellshocked. His face was frozen somewhere between bewilderment and horror. He gripped the frame so hard Simon feared he’d snap it in half under his incredible strength. Baz’s breathing became more and more shallow, as if his lungs were becoming smaller with every passing second. Simon almost reached out to touch him, but it felt like touching a wild bear, unpredictable and possibly deadly. He waited for Baz to speak first. It felt like Baz’s place to break the tension, when he was ready.

“Simon,” he finally whispered, “if this is the actual joke, it’s not very funny.”

“It’s not a joke!” Simon put a hand on his knee, bear danger be damned. He shouldn’t be afraid of Baz. “I’m serious, Baz. I think you wer- _are_ Prince Tyrannus, son of Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Fuck think, actually, I know you are. I found stuff to prove it and shit. I mean, first of all, you look exactly like the prince. You’re bigger but you still look the same. You can see that, right?”

Baz’s eyes flicked up. They were narrowed, but still quivering slightly. “I suppose you have a point, but that’s not exactly objective fact. I hope you have some more solid proof. Otherwise, I'm not sure I can believe you.”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, yeah, of course I do. Look, here.” He reached into his bag, and pulled out the first proclamation. “This is an announcement about the Queen and Prince’s deaths. They died in a fire, in 1002. You would’ve been five. Queen Natasha died, but you were taken. Like in the dreams, remember?”

“Yes, of course I remember. But this could just be a coincidence. You’ll need more than your dreams to convince me I’m a bloody dead prince, love.”

Simon smiled slightly. He was glad Penny had been with him to look for proof. "Yeah, I know. That’s why I have more.” He pulled out the other proclamation paper and put it Baz’s hand. “This is the announcement of the prince’s birth. This was released the day after he was born, so he has the same birthday as you. And see that symbol on the bottom of the page? Look familiar?”

Baz touched his silver chain where it peaked out of tunic collar. Just a small brush, but an acknowledgement all the same. “What is it?” he asked, voice very cautiously hopeful.

“It’s the crest of Tyrannus’ father’s family, the Grimms. And it’s on _your_ necklace, Baz, along with the same birthday. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Baz twisted his mouth. Simon knew he was just thinking, but the movement was infinitely distracting and he needed to focus right now. “I suppose you have a point. But...you said this prince was dead. Last I checked, I’m not dead. Not physically anyway.”

Simon almost wanted to laugh. It was certainly extremely convenient how Baz’s train of thought followed their journey to find proof. Thank the Gods for Penny’s similar need for irrefutable proof.

He pulled the journal from the bag, the page he needed already bookmarked. “See, that’s the thing.” He flipped it open and pointed to the entry. “He may have been _officially_ declared dead, but his body wasn’t actually found after the fire. These are the court physician’s notes. Because you were taken, not killed. No one knew though, since there was too much debris from the castle burning down. And Lord Grimm didn’t want to keep looking so they never realised the Prince’s- _your_ body wasn’t there.”

Baz’s hands were shaking again as he held the journal. His mouth was pressed tight together. Simon knew that look. He had the same expression whenever he was trying to keep his feelings in check too.

“But,” Baz choked out, “why did he stop?”

Simon’s heart broke. Of course Baz felt abandoned, like he had his entire life. Simon put both his hand over Baz’s. The shaking subsided a bit. “Look at the journal, you can read it there. He was too grief stricken to keep looking. It must’ve been hard to keep his hopes up all the time and keep being disappointed. I-It was a big fire, there was a lot of stuff. And Lord Grimm, he couldn’t have known you were actually taken by some madman.”

“I know,” Baz whispered, carefully putting the book down next to him. “Still...it hurts...”

Simon immediately crawled into Baz’s lap and threw his arms around him, pressing Baz as tight against him as he could. Baz hugged his waist, burying his face in Simon’s shoulder. Simon felt tears wet his tunic. He didn’t say anything though, he just let Baz cry. It was the least he could do after dumping all this on him. And considering everything, it was a relief Baz wasn’t having a full on breakdown. Simon was just glad he was mostly alright.

“One question,” he mumbled into Simon’s shoulder, “if his- my name is Tyrannus, which is a stupid name by the way, why the fuck am I called Basil? Did the man make up a new name for me?”

“Funny story about that,” Simon chuckled. “I talked to Queen Natasha’s sister. She doesn’t like David or me, so it took a bit of convincing, but she told me something cool. Prince Tyrannus’ middle name? It was Basilton. Everyone in the castle called him that, or Basil for short.”

Baz arms somehow tightened even more. He let out a shaky breath. Simon slowly ran his fingers through Baz’s hair. He had a feeling it was finally settling in for Baz, just like Simon had felt it settle in for him; Baz was Prince Tyrannus. He was supposedly dead royalty, with a name, with a family.

“So,” Baz said, barely raising from Simon’s body, “my...my father...” He obviously struggled to get the word out, but found a way to do it anyway. “He’s still alive?”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely. I see him at every council meeting.”

Baz pulled back a bit while still looking at the ground. “What’s...what’s he like?”

Simon tried to find a word to summarise Malcolm Grimm. A lot of them weren’t exactly positive. “He’s, uh, he’s...very...stern.”

Baz finally looked up a bit, his red and puffy eyes meeting Simon’s. “That’s not exactly encouraging, Snow.”

“Yeah,” Simon chuckled, “I know. It's just, he doesn’t like David that much, so he’s really cold in council meetings. He might actually be nice. I mean, I’m pretty sure he remarried and he’s had like, three or four more kids. So for their sake I hope he’s nice.”

Baz chuckled. “Well, I hope so too then.” He fiddled Simon’s trouser seam, rolling it between his long fingers. A nervous tic to distract himself. “So I’ve got siblings too?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. I didn’t connect it, but, yeah.” He grinned as broadly as he could, running a hand over Baz’s hair. “You’re a big brother.”

“Hm, that...sounds nice. And I have an aunt?”

“Yeah, Lady Fiona Pitch. She’s, uh, very forceful.”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem to have a high opinion of my family, Snow.”

Simon chuckled and shook his head. “No, no, it’s a good thing. She’s like, super strong and willful. She didn’t want to tell me Prince Tyrannus’ middle name at first because she didn’t want me dragging her nephew’s memory through the mud.”

“She thought you would?”

“She didn’t know for sure at first. She just wanted to protect her family.”

Baz’s mouth morphed into a tiny half smile. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah. She’s fiery and sharp tongued. I think you two would get along.”

The smile got the tiniest bit wider. “That’s good.”

He kept fiddling with Simon’s trousers. Simon kept running his fingers through Baz’s silky hair. It had gotten long again. Maybe they should cut it, before tomorrow night. Before the Winter Ball. Because Simon had an idea, if Baz agreed to it, and Baz would want to look good.

Suddenly, Baz stopped fiddling, his entire body going stiff. Simon pushed himself back. Baz’s eyes were wide in what looked like shock and horror.

“Baz? Are you okay, love?”

“I’m a prince,” he said quietly. “I’m a fucking prince, heir to a throne. Fuck...”

Simon couldn’t help the little snort he made. The fact that Baz didn’t pinch his side or flick him showed Simon just how shocked he was. “It just hit you right now, huh?”

“Yeah. Holy shit, I’m supposed to be a _king._ That’s insane.”

Simon cupped the back of Baz’s neck, tilting his face up just enough so their eyes met. “Um, yeah, technically you are. But you don’t have to be though, if you don’t want to...”

Baz held his head higher, brows very firmly knitted together. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Snow.”

“Baz,” he sighed, “I of all people know how hard it can be to be a prince. I didn’t tell you this to put that burden on you. I-I just wanted you to know you had a family and people missed you, because that’s what you wanted. But you don’t have to be a prince or a king. I can break the curse and we can just, run away together. Or you can stay, and the Court will make you the crown prince instead of me, and one day you’ll be king. It’s up to you, love.”

“Wouldn’t King David come after you if we ran?”

Simon tenderly ran his thumbs under Baz’s grey eyes. “It would be worth the risk.”

Baz’s smile was small and his gaze was sparkling. He leaned into Simon’s hands, running his own fingers up and down Simon’s sides.

“I’m not sure what I should do, Snow.” he whispered. “My...my mother, I think she would’ve wanted me to take care of the throne after her, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. But you don’t have to-”

“I know, Snow, I know. I just...I’m probably not the person she hoped for me to be, who she wanted to be her heir. She was a brilliant ruler. At least she had brilliant ideas about ruling. She certainly would have wanted to raise and teach me herself. But instead, I’ve spent almost my entire life in a bloody lake, and for six years of it cursed. Would...would I even be a good king?”

It finally hit Simon. It wasn’t that Baz didn’t want to be king and carry on his dead mother’s legacy. He loved politics and economics and every weird finicky prince thing Simon found boring as shit. But he didn’t think he could. Baz was right in way, he probably wasn’t exactly the person his mother thought he would be. Simon had no idea who he would’ve been if Queen Natasha had raised him. But he knew who Baz was, right here, right now. And he needed Baz to know what he thought too.

“Baz,” he said softly, tucking a piece of black hair behind his pointed ear, “I think you’d be a good king. Way better than David, and definitely way better than me.”

“How much of a compliment is that?” he mumbled. Simon flicked his cheek while his lovely, caring companion snickered.

“I’m serious, though, Baz. I think you’d be a good king.”

His face didn’t exactly fall, but it became serious. He was examining Simon like he was one of his books, looking for meaning and understanding. “How do you know?”

_Because you’re smart,_ he thought, _and kind, and so unbelievably strong. You’d be able to see all the small details I miss. And you would treat the people so well._ But the words got stuck in his throat, and he wasn’t sure the ever self deprecating Baz would believe him if he just said it. If there was another way...

Simon held Baz’s arms, still snug around his waist. “If you were king, what would you do if you needed the wheat, but the amount you needed wouldn’t leave enough for the people farming it?”

Baz’s face pinched together. It was adorable, and Simon had to actively stop himself from snogging him silly. “What is this? Some kind of riddle?”

Simon shook his head, hands moving to hold his shoulders. “No, just a question. Please answer it, love.”

Baz tilted his head to the side, lips sliding back and forth over each other. Once again, it was a struggle to not push him to the ground and snig him senseless. “Well,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t take that much to begin with. I’d tax a sustainable amount. And if I really needed more, I’d give the farmers funds to encourage them to till more arable land. But not enough it would destroy wild lands for animals. You should always protect nature. It’d be complicated and difficult, but it would be worth it to not harm the people. Queen Nata- ...my...my mother, she wrote that at the end of the day all a ruler really has is the faith of the common people. You break that, you lose your throne, and you’ll deserve it. So never harm them with your own ambitions.” Baz nervously met Simon’s eyes. “Does that make sense?”

Simon’s grin was involuntary and broad. He didn’t know exactly how Baz would answer, but he was more than happy with what he said. “Yeah. That makes perfect sense.” He pressed a firm kiss to his cheek, trailing his lips up to Baz’s ear, where he whispered words. “You would be an incredible king, Baz.”

“Really?” he asked, voice tiny but hopeful.

“Really. Trust me, I wouldn’t lie about this. Listen to yourself. I never would've thought of any of that, but you did. You would be fucking fantastic.

Baz let out a long breath, all the tension in his muscles thawing like ice. His forehead fell against Simon’s shoulder. Simon’s fingers were pressed to Baz’s neck, warm breath heating up his tunic.

“I think,” Baz said into the fabric, “I think I want to. Take back the throne, that is. I want to show I’m worthy of it. Well, I’ll try, and hopefully I am.”

“You’re sure that’s what you want?” Simon asked. “Not what you think your mother would want?”

Baz nodded. “Yeah. Honestly...I think it’s a bit of both. I want to prove I’m worthy of her legacy, but I also want to myself.” He pulled back, the tiniest smile playing on his mouth. “I’ve been reading about politics and philosophy for years, might as well put all of it to use. And I’ve been trapped here almost my whole life, unable to do anything. I could do a lot as a king, make a difference. I’d like that.”

Simon almost said that he could do a lot as anything. He didn’t have to be king. But it was obviously something Baz wanted to do. Simon didn’t fully get it, what with his experience as a prince, but he understood it was important to Baz, and that was all that mattered.

“Okay,” Simon said. “If that’s what you want, okay.”

Baz lifted his head sharply. “But wait,” he said, voice very nervous, “will...will you stay with me? If I become the crown prince? If not, fuck the throne, we’ll run fast and far and never look back. I’d rather have you than any crown or legacy.”

Every part of Simon’s body felt so incredibly warm. Like the sun was beating where his heart should be. He cupped Baz’s beautiful, perfect, sharp face and brought their mouths together. It was an incredibly soft kiss compared to most of their others. But kissing Baz was kissing Baz, and it was always amazing. When they pulled apart, Simon hugged Baz’s neck as tight as he could.

“I’ll stay,” he said against his ear. “I’ll stay with you, no matter what, Baz. Whether you’re a prince or a king or a swan, you’ll never be alone again, I promise.”

Baz let out a relieved sigh. He squeezed Simon so hard Simon struggled to breathe a bit. But he didn’t care. Fuck breathing. Baz was hugging him, that was all that mattered.

Eventually, they eased up, settling into a softer embrace. Simon shifted onto his knees to better look at Baz’s face. His black hair was disheveled from Simon running his hands through it, the area around his eyes was a little red and puffy. But he was smiling. And he looked damn gorgeous.

“Now that we’ve got that all sorted, my plan can work,” Simon said cheerily.

Baz looked confused, as he had many times tonight. “Plan? What plan? Should I be scared, Snow?”

Simon giggled, shaking his head. “Unless you’re scared of dancing again, then no.” Baz looked even more confused. Simon grabbed both his hands. “Tomorrow night, there’s going to be a huge ball at the castle. It’s a big event for the nobility, lots of people will be there. David wants to announce my...my engagement to my friend there.” Baz flinched, and Simon held his hands tighter. “But I’m not going to let him. Instead, you’re going to come, all dressed up and shit. And I’ll...do what Siegfried in Swan Lake was supposed to do, but do it right, and the curse will be broken. Then we’ll tell the whole court who you are. You can see your family and take back the crown.”

Baz took a few minutes to process all of it. His eyes moved back and forth across the air like he was reading. Soon, he slowly nodded. “Okay, okay, and what am I going to wear? My clothes aren't appropriate for a huge ball."

"Still got the solstice costume?" Baz nodded. "Then where that. Anyone asks where it's from, say it's bespoke."

Baz snorted, turning into a low chuckle. "Sure, they'll believe that. And what if my captor shows up? Here or at the ball?

"He only shows up here every few months, we should be fine. And if he's at the ball, I'll kick his arse."

Baz chuckled again, shaking his head. Simon hoped he actually believed him. "Alright, sure. And..." Baz took a deep breath. Simon watched his expand slowly, the muscles and sinew tensing and relaxing. Simon's anticipation rose in every one of those slow seconds. "You can definitely break the curse?

_Huh?_ Simon thought. “I...don’t know what you mean. You’ve read the book, right?”

“Yes yes, I’ve read it. I mean...” Baz cleared his throat and ran his thumb over the back of Simon’s hand. “You’re sure you’re, capable of breaking the curse? You...feel the way you have to in order to break it?”

It took Simon his own time to process Baz’s words. But slowly the revelation dawned on him. The nervous way Baz bit his lip, the flush covering his cheeks, how he was looking at the ground. Gods above, Simon couldn’t believe it. Did Baz not realise Simon loved him?

“Yes,” Simon blurted out, voice edging on annoyed, “yes I can! I really, really can.”

Baz eyes went wider. He was truly shocked “Really?”

Simon nodded so hard his hair flung back and forth. “Yeah, of course! I’ve never felt like this before you, like Siegfried. I absolutely I meet the curse criteria.”

“Oh,” Baz squeaked, cheeks flushing bright red. “Alright, that’s good to know.”

Baz’s voice was strained, nervous, and something finally clicked in Simon’s brain. His jaw fell open in shock. “Is that why you haven’t talked about the book since I gave it to you? You were scared I didn’t...care about you like that?” Baz shrugged, very pointedly looking at the grassy floor. Simon let out a breathy chuckle. “What, did me snogging you for three weeks and everything else before not fully convince you?”

“You can snog someone and come see them and not...feel that way about them,” he mumbled with red cheeks. Simon wanted to slap his feelings of worthlessness right out of of him. Or kiss them away. That would be good too.

“Well, I _do_. I mean, I just promised to stay with you forever for a damn good reason, Baz.” He pulled Baz’s face up and tapped their foreheads together. “Baz, I lo-”

Baz surged forward and covered Simon’s mouth with his, effectively cutting him off. Simon melted into it like always. His arms went limp on Baz's strong shoulders. And when Baz pulled back, Simon chased his lips, but Baz sadly kept him away with a light push of his chest.

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Baz whispered playfully. “But save the actual word for the ball. We don’t know exactly how the curse works. We may only have one shot, and we need the world to hear.”

Simon nodded. “Alright, yeah, you have a point. I’ll fucking shout it tomorrow night.”

Baz scoffed playfully. “I’m sure all the nobility will appreciate that.”

“Eh. I won’t be the prince for much long after. They won’t give a shit what I do.”

“You really don’t mind losing the title?”

Simon shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. You know I hate it. I think being a prince’s, uh, whatever we are will be way easier. I can do whatever I want.”

Baz smirked devilishly. “Oh dear, what will the Lords think then?”

“What?” Simon leaned back, arms lazily draped on Baz’s shoulders, “worried I’ll reflect badly on you, Prince Tyrannus?”

Baz’s smirk immediately turned into an angry frown. But Simon didn’t think he was angry at him, because he wasn’t pushing Simon onto his arse and stomping away. Rather, he was holding his waist tighter. “No. And don’t you ever think that ever again.”

Simon was a bit taken aback, but the aggressive affection was very endearing in it’s own way. He smiled all the same as his heart beat pleasantly against his ribcage. “Okay, will do, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that, please,” Baz chuckled, head falling against Simon’s chest. “It feels weird.”

“You’ll have to get used it eventually, love.”

Baz rolled his eyes incredibly dramatically. “Yeah, but not yet. I’m still just Baz right now.”

Simon instantly leaned forward to press a hard, fast kiss to Baz’s cool lips. Baz barely had time to react before Simon pulled away again. “You’ll always be Baz to me, no matter how many people call you ‘your highness’”

Simon wasn’t sure how nice that was, or how much sense it made. Things that came out of his mouth tended to be just this side of nonsensical and usually unhelpful. But Baz grinned, and he pulled Simon by his tunic collar to kiss him again, more slowly this time, carefully winding his long fingers in his curls as he languidly took his mouth. So maybe Simon was helpful for once. That was a nice feeling. Kissing Baz was a better feeling though. It was better than anything.

Baz was the one who pulled away this time. He nuzzled Simon’s cheek with his long nose. “Just curious,” he said, “what would you have done if I didn’t want to take back the throne? Would we still have gone to that ball but then dashed off instead?”

Simon giggled, pressing himself closer to Baz’s comforting embrace. “No no. I, uh, I actually thought about stealing supplies, going to the town square, and shouting it to everyone there. Then we’d get on horses and ride as far as we could in one night.”

Honestly, Simon expected Baz to mock him for such a simplistic idea, or at least laugh at him for a moment. But he didn’t, because Baz was a constant, wonderful, ever renewing miracle. He just grinned and kissed Simon’s burning cheek. “That’s a great plan, love. I absolutely would’ve done that too.”

“Well, thank you,” Simon laughed. “The ball will be good too though, I promise. I mean, it’s going to be sort of boring, but it’ll be better with you there.”

“You really take me to the most wonderful places,” Baz drawled. He reached back and touched his own hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “Say, think you could give me another haircut before my big debut? I liked it just at my neck.”

“Yeah, of course. What else would my dagger be for?”

“I have absolutely no clue.”

Simon pecked Baz’s annoyingly attractive smirk, then reluctantly released himself from his embrace. As he stumbled around behind Baz, he pulled his dagger from his boot, spinning it for dramatic effect. (Baz had taught him the value of dramatics.) Baz sat straight backed, hands perfectly placed in his lap. He was doing a very good statue impression. He’d fit in quite well at council meetings.

It was quiet as Simon cut Baz’s hair, just like the first time. Simon could hear the soft wind and lapping water. But now the air wasn’t filled with tension and awkwardness. Simon’s hands didn’t start off shaking as he sliced through Baz’s raven locks. Baz wasn’t stiff and pulling away from Simon. He leaned into Simon’s hand, hummed happily when their skin touched. And Simon took every opportunity to touch Baz again and again. They weren’t the anxiety riddled loners anymore. Almost four months later, and they were so much better.

With a final slice, Simon finished. It wasn’t perfectly even, but only a very scrutinizing eye would noticed. Baz looked great. Simon kissed his cheek, his temple, and his ear. He wanted to kiss Baz all night. Of course, that was when he let out the world’s biggest yawn.

“Aw,” Baz cooed, craning his head back, “you tired, Snow?”

“A bit,” he sighed. “But I’m fine.”

“No. You should sleep. We’ve both got a big night tomorrow.” He went to his feet and outstretched his long arm. One of the floating lights illuminated the back of his head. He looked like some sort of demigod or celestial being. Simon was simply in awe of him. “Come on, time for you to steal my bed again.”

Simon rolled his eyes but still took his hand, letting him be hoisted to his feet. “You’re the one offering.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He tugged Simon forward, making him stumble into Baz’s embrace. When twisted a piece of Simon’s hair between his fingers, he practically melted. “Like I’d ever complain about having you in my bed.”

All the words left Simon’s mouth and brain. He had been reduced to a blushy, lovesick mess of a man and he never wanted to be anything else ever again. Baz giggled, then leaned forward to peck Simon’s lips. It was short, and Simon almost pushed for a longer kiss, but he was tired. There would be lots of time for that afterwards. After the curse was finally broken. When Baz would finally be free.

They walked to the cottage hand in hand. Baz led Simon to his cot for what was hopefully the last time. Simon laid down, and Baz followed, though he also grabbed a large book to keep himself entertained while Simon slept. He sat with his back against the wall and patted the space next to him. Simon happily collapsed there, head on Baz’s thigh and arm across his lap. He felt sleep wash over like a tide on the beach. Baz rubbed his back, and Simon focused on that slow, comforting motion as he drifted off.

This would be his last time in this bed. But it certainly wouldn’t the last time he fell asleep with Baz right next to him.

* * *

 

When Simon woke up, it wasn’t quite yet dawn, the sky a deep violet and edging towards orange, a few grey clouds beautifully illuminated in the distance. Simon looked at Baz with blurry eyes. But he could see Baz’s smiling down at him, and that was all that mattered.

“Morning,” Baz said wistfully.

“Morning,” Simon replied.

They spent a few of their precious minutes kissing. Baz made muttering comments about Simon’s terrible breath, but didn’t actually stop. Eventually, they had to get up though, and Baz let Simon use his arms to pull himself up. As they walked outside into the coming day, greeted by soft rumblings in the sky and swan honks, Baz suddenly stopped in the doorway. Simon unceremoniously knocked into him.

“Baz? What is it?” he asked, rubbing his aching nose.

“This is all I’ve known for so long,” Baz said quietly. “And...I don’t think I’m going to miss it. Is that weird? To not miss your home?”

Simon pressed his cheek to Baz’s bony shoulder, gripping his hand tight. “This isn’t your home, love. It’s your prison. Let it burn for all I care.”

Baz snorted. “You weren’t exactly a fan when I tried that.”

“Okay, you know what I mean, arsehole.” He squeezed his hand again. “By tonight, you’re going to be free of here. You’re going to have a huge castle and a big family and me all the time.”

“Yeah,” Baz sighed happily, leaning on the top of his head. “I’m looking forward to that.”

They collected all the books and papers in silence, putting them back in Simon’s rucksack. He slung it over his shoulder with ease, then turned back to Baz.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he said and started rummaging into his trouser pocket. Soon he felt something metal graze his fingers. He pulled out the gold signet ring, etched with a sword insignia, and pressed it Baz’s palm. “Wear this to the ball tonight. Tell the guards I invited you and show them it. They’ll let you in, or at least tell me, then I’ll let you in, okay?”

Baz nodded, absentmindedly slipping in onto his left ring finger. Simon didn’t know if that was intentional, but his face flushed all the same. “Okay, will do.”

Simon could see the sunlight approaching from over Baz’s shoulder. Their time was almost up for now. As his heart broke, Simon kept reminding himself of that this was the last sunrise they had to worry about. He pulled Baz for one more kiss. It was deep and sure, just like his feelings for Baz. Simon reluctantly separated from him. _Soon,_ he thought, _soon he’ll be free, and we’ll stop having to say goodbye._

“It starts after sundown,” he whispered. “Head there right after you change.”

“Okay,” Baz replied.

“Wear the solstice costume?”

“Of course.”

“And make sure you have the ring.”

“Will do.”

“And-”

“Simon,” Baz chuckled, cupping his face delicately, “it’ll be alright. You can go. I’ll see you tonight.”

Simon took a deep, somewhat calming breath through his nose. His nerves were still sky high, but Baz’s voice helped. He always helped. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

They kissed once, twice, and a third time for good luck, then Simon finally walked to the edge of the root covered wall. He turned back to look at the lake one last time. It’s lush green grass, short trees, graceful swans, and glistening blue water. It was a beautiful place. But Simon wouldn’t miss it either. Because the best part of the lake was Baz. Soon Baz would be free, and every place with him would be just as beautiful.

Simon met Baz’s grey eyes one more time, grinned, and started climbing the wall for what he hoped would be the very last time.

* * *

 

Baz watched Simon ascend the wall with a smile on his face. He watched until the barrier made him invisible. He sighed, fingers instinctively touching the gold ring. It was a comforting weight, reminding him of everything. The ball, his impending freedom, Simon’s love.

Baz had spent six years listening to people from afar, figuring them out and being unimpressed. None of them compared to Simon. Brave, kind, strong Simon. Baz knew he loved Simon almost since they met. His feelings were so intense he feared they would kill him. No matter how much he tried to fight it, they stayed. Baz knew it was impossible. Even that one near kiss at the festival felt unreal, just an impulsive mistake from Simon. And when Baz pushed him away he thought that was finally it. The end he expected came but destroyed him all the same. Then Simon kissed him, saved his life, told him he would find his family, and there was a little hope again. But Baz still couldn’t believe it was love. Friendly affection mixed with physical desire maybe, but not love. No one could ever fall in love someone as strange and damaged as him. No one could break his curse, and he was too much of a coward to bring it up.

Except Simon did love him. Simon, his brave, kind, strong prince was in love with him. What a charmed life Baz had.

He looked down at his hands. They were softly glowing, and he knew his time was approaching. One last time, then no more swan form, no more painful transformation, no more prison. He wouldn’t be the nameless cursed boy any longer. He’d be a prince, someday a king, with a father and siblings and an aunt and Simon. He would be making his late mother, his idol for his whole life, as proud as he could. He would make a difference.

Fate had a strange way of working out.

Baz slipped the ring off and put it in his trouser pocket. He started unlacing his tunic. The was glow increasing bit by bit. But he wasn’t scared for once.

“It’s the last time, just one more time,” he muttered, “then this will finally be over.”

“That’s what you think.”

A large, rough hand clamped over Baz’s mouth, and an arm grabbed his waist. He screamed, but he knew no sound got past the barrier. And every time he struggled the arm held him tighter. He looked down. The arm was dressed in a grey robe.

“So, you think you can escape, huh?” the man hissed, his voice unaltered for once. It was a deep, angry baritone. “And it’s because of _Simon._ Damn that boy, he’s more trouble than he’s worth. No matter though. He won’t be breaking your curse. I’ll make sure he never can. And you will be somewhere he can’t find you.”

Baz screamed again but it was hopeless. The shield blocked what little sound he made. The man’s hand around his waist pulled away, but the other hand kept Baz from fleeing. Frightened tears fell down his face but the man didn’t care. Something pointy tapped Baz’s temple twice, and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, that's not good. What ever shall happen? Also I hope my reasoning got across. I'm worried Baz wanting the throne is too OOC. In my mind though, this is an extension of Baz wanting to continue his mother's legacy. But he hasn't grown up with that legacy as something crushing and love stopping in this fic. It's something he can live up to. Plus he's been isolated and alone almost his entire life, feeling like his life doesn't mean anything, like he's been a ghost in the world. Being a king would let him have a say and do something. He can help people like Simon helped him. Could he do that without being king? Yeah. But he wants to be. He likes politics and philosophy and could like being king. Simon doesn't like any of that, and while he wants to help people, doesn't know how to do it as king like Baz. I hope that came across. I need to stop over explaining my writing lol. Any who, next chapter will be on Monday :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of the ball, but will things go as planned?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my fave chapters, I'm excited to post it :D

Simon adjusted his circlet so it wasn’t lopsided. It always did that, what with his thick hair and quick movements. But it wouldn’t for much longer. After tonight, he wouldn’t have to wear it again. Thank the Gods for that.

Though he really wanted to wear his dragon outfit, Simon had to wear a suit David picked out. It was made of grey silk with some darker, sparkling embroidery, paired with matching grey trousers and buckled shoes. Baz would say he looked like the glittering night sky or something. Simon thought he just looked silly.

A knock at the door jolted Simon from his thoughts. He nearly ripped his button off in frantic flailing. “Uh, who is it?”

“It’s me, Simon.” David’s stern voice was unmistakable even through the thick wooden door.

Simon straightened his coat, pushed his hair back, and tried to ignore how dry his mouth had become with nervousness. “C-Come in.”

David stepped in, grand green cape trailing behind him. He was wearing his full ensemble tonight. Cape, gold embroidered tunic, and official crown. It was an intricate, magically made designed piece of metalwork. Golden vines wound upwards and around his head, inlaid with bright green gems and topped off with a red feather on the left side. He held his head high, shoulders back. The perfect picture of a king. Not for much longer though. Simon felt bad for moment. Until he remembered Philippa, and Canterbury, and those forlorn faces in the procession.

“Good evening, sir,” Simon said, hiding his shaking fingers behind his back.

“Good evening, Simon,” he replied. “Are you ready for the ball?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. I-I put on the grey suit you wanted...”

David’s eyes swept over Simon from his feet to the top of his unruly hair. “Yes, I can see that.”

“So, I’m ready.”

“Hm, not quite.”

Simon frowned, looking down at himself for any flaws. “What? But I-”

“Here.” Simon looked back up. David held a beautiful carved wooden box in his hands. He slowly lifted the lid, and Simon’s eyes went wide. “You have to wear this.”

It was a crown similar to David’s, made from gold and deep emeralds. The vines reached up and twisted, like they were made to be put in front of Simon’s curls. And right in the centre sat a large violet gem. It was the colour of the Mage’s School uniforms. Simon remembered off handedly mentioning once that he liked the colour a lot. So David was listening for once. It was heartwarming. Simon almost felt bad that he was about to lose his throne. Almost.

“Oh,” Simon squeaked, “wow. This is...wow.”

“A crown prince deserves a proper crown,” David said grandly. “I thought it would be right to debut it tonight, along with your future Queen.”

Simon hoped his gulp wasn’t too obvious. It took every ounce of his strength to not jump out of his skin. “Right, right. Thank you...father.”

David nodded stiffly. “You’re welcome, Simon. Put it on, we have to get downstairs.”

“O-Okay.” Simon carefully lifted the crown from the box. It was strangely warm for something made of metal. He ran his thumb over the delicate vines and leaves. It was beautiful, but Simon knew it wasn’t for him. Maybe he’d give it to Baz later. Until then, he would just have to grin and bare it. Slowly, he put on the crown. The warmth encircled his whole head, radiating through his body. It felt good on sitting on Simon. Maybe he would actually keep it afterwards. Do prince’s...lovers (he still didn't like that word) get crowns? He hoped so.

“How does it feel, Simon?” David asked.

“Good,” Simon replied, mouth stretching into a wide grin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It certainly works for you.” David said. “Let’s get going.”

Simon nodded. He followed behind the King, still smiling, looking forward to walking into the ballroom with his crowned head held high.

* * *

 

The castle ballroom was grand on any day, but tonight, it was especially awe inspiring. Twenty musicians played a haunting tune that floated through the air like a summer breeze. Large gold tables were covered in the fanciest hor d'oeuvres. The high vaulted ceiling was decorated in magical fairy lights, like glittering snow or far away stars. Everything was so pretty and vibrant. It was like a dream.

Anyone who was anyone from every corner of the kingdom was here tonight, dressed in their finest silks. Simon recognised a few from council meetings and Mage’s School. Trixie and Kerys were giggling together. Obviously their relationship was still going strong. Gareth and Rhys sat in the corner, having a champagne drinking competition. Miss Possibelf was discussing something with fellow teachers. Lord and Lady Wellbelove made the rounds and talked to everyone they could. Simon didn’t know if they were drumming up support because they were breaking off the engagement or staying part of it. He hoped it was the former. Especially since a certain someone was here, even if Simon hadn’t seen him yet.

“Announcing,” Premal, already waiting in the doorway, said, “his majesty, King David Owens of Watford. And his royal highness, Crown Prince Simon Owens of Watford.”

Everyone turned to them with varying expressions, ranging from polite smiles to barely disguised contempt. Simon tried to school his face. He didn’t want to seem too nervous, even though his eyes were darting around.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” David said. “We’re incredibly grateful for your presence and your part in our fair kingdom. Please, eat, drink, and be merry.”

They all clapped softly, the way most nobility did. Simon followed David as they ascended the dais and took their thrones. David’s was plush, while Simon’s was smaller and much less cushioned. He wondered if it was a prince’s duty to be uncomfortable. He couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

Some of the guests went back to milling about, while others approached the twin thrones. Lords and Ladies of the court took turns bowing to them, thanking the King for his gracious invitation and even more gracious rule. Simon wasn’t great at picking up sarcasm (unless it was Penny or Baz), but he swore heard touches of it in people’s voices. And their expressions looked particularly forced. Maybe the Staintons weren’t the only ones affected by David’s policies.

Speak of the Devil, the Staintons were approaching. Philippa looked incredible in her pale blue gown. Her eyes met Simon, and she mouthed _“hi”._ He grinned back. It was good to know he had more than one friend here. Their parents spoke briefly, words emotionless and professional, then she was being carted away. Simon mouthed, _“talk later”._ Philippa nodded in reply.

Just behind them was none other than the Bunces, save for Premal. Martin and Mitali were in old but very beautiful attire, as were their children. Simon had to school his expression when he saw Penelope. He was so happy to see her. He needed her tonight more than ever. Their eyes met, and Simon knew she was struggling not to smile as well.

“Good evening, your majesty,” Mitali said, bowing down. “Thank you for inviting us to this grand affair.”

“We at the court want to honour our teachers,” David said. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

They all turned to leave. But Simon wanted to speak with Penny, he had to. He turned to David very properly. “Um, Father, would it be possible for me to go onto the floor? I could go...make connections...”

Simon almost groaned at his own flimsy excuse. But surprisingly, David didn’t even hesitate. He just waved his hand and nodded. “Yes, good idea. Just come back later.”

“Thank you, father!” He jumped from the throne, then practically leaped down the steps. He was just so excited to get out there. Go find Penny first, then maybe Agatha and Philippa, then hopefully Baz. He should be here soon. But first, Penelope.

“Pen, hey, Pen!” He called out.

Penelope turned her head, and she was already smiling. “Hello, your highness.”

Simon rolled his eyes as he pulled her into a hug. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Well, that’s not very princely speak.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “but I won’t be a prince much longer, so whatever.”

Penelope pulled back sharply. Her eyes were extremely wide behind her spectacles. “What does that mean?”

Simon grinned ear to ear, squeezing Penny’s shoulders. “It means, there’s a certain someone here tonight. And after I say a certain something to the world, he’s going to gladly take my place as heir to the throne.”

She gasped so loud the whole ballroom may hear her. “Oh Gods, he’s here?!”

“Yeah, somewhere. He’s in the same thing he wore to the solstice festival. I haven’t seen him yet, have you?”

“No, definitely haven’t seen a lanky boy in a silver feather suit. But I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Pen. I-”

Simon froze. Something wavy and black over Penny’s shoulder caught his eye. He craned his neck as much as possible. And he saw a flash of silver too.

“Nevermind, Pen,” he said. “I think I’ve found who I’m looking for.”

Penelope turned her head, looking where Simon’s eyes were focused; On a long, lean back, covered in black fabric and silver feathers.

“He made it,” Simon sighed.

“What?” Penny said. “Simon, what are you-”

“I’ll talk to you later, Pen, okay?”

“Simon-”

“Bye!”

He speed walked over towards him. He was surrounded by a group of girls, probably fawning over him. Simon felt horrible jealousy spread in his heart like blood in water, even though he knew that boy only had eyes for him. But he trusted Baz, and he would be polite. So instead, Simon tapped his shoulder.

Baz turned around, and Simon was met with deep sea eyes and cheekbones sharper than a sword. 

* * *

 

Baz awoke in darkness. It took awhile for his eyes to adjust to the slight moonlight coming in through the window. He blinked slowly until everything came into focus.

He was on the floor of somewhere small and made of dark wood. It looked like his cottage, but bigger. There was a proper desk, a bookshelf, and some chairs. Books and scrolls were spread out across the desk. Some were stamped with a weird looking cross. Baz recognised it from some of the books the man brought him. This had to be his house. He had brought Baz to his own home.

Baz stood up and groaned. But it came out as a honk. He looked down at himself, and confirmed what he already knew. He was in swan form, with his stupid black feathers and stupid long neck and stupid wings- _Wait, I have wings,_ Baz thought. For once, the annoying, tiring things could actually be useful. Baz stretched them and flapped as hard as he could. He soared up and up, until he was sharply tugged back to earth.

“Honk!” he yelled, hitting the ground with painful thwack. He weakly turned his head and saw exactly what he feared. A small but thick link of chains connected his webbed foot to the ground. Baz was trapped. And he could only wonder what Simon was doing at the ball right now.

* * *

 

“Excuse me,” Simon said as he offered his hand, “may I have this dance?”

Baz’s eyes were very wide, and he even took a step back. Simon assumed he just caught him off guard. Maybe he wasn’t expecting Simon to find him so soon, or so late, depending on how long Simon hadn’t seen him. Simon hoped he hadn’t been waiting long.

“Oh,” Baz squeaked. “You...want to dance?”

“Of course. It’s a ball, and I want to ask the prettiest person in the room to dance.” The girls gasped and giggled, hiding behind their fans. Baz still looked distressed, his face all stretched out and eyes bigger than saucer plates. Simon didn’t want him to be nervous. He stepped closer, and Baz leaned back, but didn’t step away. “C’mon, one dance. Then I’ll make the announcement.”

Baz’s brows pulled together. “Announcement? What? I thought-”

“Don’t worry,” Simon sighed, taking Baz’s hand. “We have time. We can dance first. I’ve been waiting to dance with you again for ages.”

He dragged Baz through the crowd. They parted for Simon, making a corridor towards the musicians. The floor was open for them to start the dancing. Simon turned, facing Baz, and tugged him forward. Baz stumbled until they were as close as they had been at the solstice festival. Simon could feel how tense Baz was. He had to be freaked out by everyone watching them. The solstice festival was hard enough, and he was behind a mask. Now his face was out there for everyone. Simon wondered if Lord Grimm or Lady Pitch were watching. He wondered if Baz looked familiar to them.

Simon pulled Baz to him, making the boy stumble into his arms. He heard mumbles and whispers from the people of the court, which he expected. They probably all expected the Prince to dancing with a lady. Not some mysterious bloke in a black and silver feather suit. Even David was watching. His face was stone, but surprisingly not angry. Simon didn’t care. All he could see was Baz, who looked like a dream tonight.

He put one hand on Baz’s shoulder, and grabbed his palm with the other. Their chests were almost pressed together. Baz’s eyes were still wide and nervous. Simon hoped to make that expression go away.

“Let’s dance,” Simon said.

* * *

 

Baz had no idea what to do. The chain was strong and showed no signs of budging. No matter how fast Baz flew, he couldn’t escape it. Whatever the man had done, he’d made sure Baz couldn’t escape. Well, that was what he promised, the stupid wanker.

Baz was sprawled out on the wooden floor, wings spread out like he’d hit a window. It felt hopeless. He was stuck here, as a swan, while Simon was Gods know where. The man had promised Simon wouldn’t be able to break the curse. Baz felt a cold stab of dread in his heart when he thought about what that that meant. He hoped it wasn’t like in Swan Lake. He hoped Simon would notice it wasn’t him.

Whatever Simon was doing, it didn’t matter. Baz was stuck here. And wherever this was, it wasn’t where Simon was. Part of Baz wanted to lay on this cold floor forever, resigned to his fate, accepting that his hope was snuffed out like the tiny weak candle it was. Of course he’d never be free. Life was never that kind to him. It was stupid to think he could have all the things Simon promised him.

Simon...

Baz closed his eyes, and he saw so much more than this stupid cottage. He saw a smile so bright it rivaled the sun. He saw freckles and moles that looked like his beloved stars. He saw blue eyes, bronze curls. Simon Snow. The incredible boy who had stolen his heart and given him hope for the first time in his dreary life. Baz could almost hear his beautiful voice from that fateful night, when Baz had set the world on fire.

_I’ve never turned my back on you before. I’m not starting now._

Simon had saved him that night, in more ways than one. Simon hadn’t given up on him then, and wouldn’t want Baz to give up on himself now. He would tell Baz to fight for what he wanted. And fight Baz would.

He raised himself up again and looked around the room. The cloaked man kept a lot of weird random shit. Flasks, books, crates, but none of it seem useful for breaking a chain. Nothing short of Simon’s sword could probably break it. Or Baz’s fire, that would work too. He would need a wand for that, which was currently under his pillow back at the lake. If only...

Baz’s eye caught something. It was long and white with black at the end. A wand, sitting at the top of the bookshelf. All Baz had to do was fly up, and he was going to damn well try.

* * *

 

Simon wondered if the Solstice Festival truly was a single fluke. Maybe there truly was magic in the air that night. Because he and Baz were dancing, but it wasn’t nearly as smooth as it was that night. They kept falling out of rhythm and Simon stepped on his toes quite a bit.

“Ow,” Baz hissed.

“Sorry, sorry,” Simon said, pulling back. “We were better last time, huh?”

“Were we?”

Simon rolled his eyes, somewhat tempted to kick Baz in the shin even at this oh so momentous of nights. “Yeah yeah, shut up and be formal.”

Strangely, Baz looked genuinely concerned. “But...we weren’t that good last time. Remember?”

“Uh, I didn’t think we were that bad. Thought we were pretty good...”

“If you think so.”

Simon’s mouth opened, then quickly closed. This was odd. Where was Baz’s sarcastic edge? The back and forth that characterized their entire relationship? Maybe he was too nervous for banter. Simon couldn’t blame him. This was beyond nerve wracking.

They were still sort of moving, stepping in a tiny square. Baz was looking down at the marble floor. Simon brought their joined hands to knock up his chin until their eyes met. Baz’s incredible grey eyes. He looked especially pretty tonight, like a glowing sun surrounded his head, blurring everything around him with his light.

“It’s okay,” Simon whispered. “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be okay. It’s all going to be fine. Tonight’s our night.”

Baz looked even more perplexed. Simon guessed he was about to ask some inane question made from nerves, not a genuine concern. So Simon pulled him across the dance floor, guiding them with their hands, moving so fast Baz wouldn’t have time to be worried. All he’d be able to think was them, together.

* * *

 

The cottage was filled with strained, stressed honks as Baz tried to reach the top of the shelf. _Why did he have to put it all the way up there?_ Baz whined internally. If he had a half inch more of chain, he could reach it. He fell to the floor for the fifth time, wheezing as much as his small swan lungs could. At this rate, by the time he got the wand, he’d be too tired to fly all the way to Simon. Why couldn’t that thing just be a bit lower? Better yet, why couldn’t it be on the floor?

Simon always liked to bash into things as hard as he could. Maybe Baz needed to take a page from his book.

He flew upwards again, but this time only to just above the middle. He pulled back as far as the chain would let him and took a deep breath. _For Simon,_ he thought. Then Baz hurled himself forward as hard he could, hitting the shelf with the side of his wing. Pain shot through his entire being. Sensations as a swan were always strange, but getting hurt was the worst. It seemed having a smaller body made pain more concentrated. Baz winced. He wanted to stop, but he wanted to see Simon more.

Baz threw himself at the shelf again harder. It rocked back then forward again. The wand rolled but didn’t fall. Baz let out a frustrated honk and tried again, even harder, so hard he feared his wing was broken. _Come on, come on,_ he thought, _just fucking fall._ He looked at the shelf, filled with righteous determination, and flew as fast as he could. He ignored the shooting pain as he hit the shelf, because all he could think of was getting to Simon.

With a long breath, Baz collapsed on the ground, head resting on the floor. He couldn’t do that again. He would break his wing and be unable to fly if he did that again. Fuck, hopefully-

_Thunk._ Baz opened his eyes, and his gaze was met with ivory and black leather. _Oh thank every stupid God,_ Baz thought. He dragged himself forward and put his wing over the wand until he realised that he couldn’t pick it up. Baz’s deep seated hatred for his swan form somehow got even _more_ deep seated.

Instead of his wing, Baz went with a different option. He grabbed the ivory stick with his tiny swan mouth as he sat up. He couldn’t say a spell now of course, but he could try to recreate that night, when fire manifested from the wand just by thinking. Fire was always easiest for him, almost as natural as breathing. Baz was still a mage, even as a swan. At least he should be.

Baz closed his eyes, pointed the wand at his chain, and pictured fire building in his body, slowly pushing it towards the wand. But the fire didn’t even need to build. It pulled towards the wands like a magnet. Baz liked Simon’s wand, but this one was a tailored glove. He could control it far better. The fire came out in a perfect steady stream, hitting his shackle lock dead on. The metal went from dark grey, to orange, to bright red. It drooped and slowly melted onto the ground. Soon enough, what was once a lock was a puddle, and Baz dropped the wand, the fire ceasing. He thrashed his foot around violently until the latch came undone. And just like that, Baz was free.

He flew up to the window above the desk. It was slightly ajar. With one shove from his beak, the pane flew open, and Baz was out. He zoomed out and up into the night sky. Baz took in his surroundings. He was on some sort of hill on the edge of a forest. It looked like his forest, and Baz knew how to navigate his forest, thankfully. He looked to the west and saw what he was looking for. It was barely a speck from here, but Baz knew it was actually the castle, where Simon was. He briefly thought about changing first, but he’d get there faster on wings. And he had no time to waste.

Baz flapped his wings as hard as possible, and soared towards the castle. Towards Simon.

* * *

 

In took awhile, but Simon finally found a rhythm with Baz. It was shaky but it was there. They didn’t soar across the floor like before, but they did move easily. Other people had joined them on the dance floor too, thankfully, so it was less awkward. Trixie and Keris were happily swanning about. Lord and Lady Stainton were having a grand old time together. They were obviously expert dancers. Some of the younger kids were dancing with their parents or each other. It was fun. Though, Penelope was still to the side, arms crossed over her chest and looking really concerned. She’d gestured Simon a few times to come over, but Simon didn’t want to. He liked dancing with Baz. He barely noticed her after a while.

The song changed to something slower, more subdued. Simon slowed down, and Baz did as well. They weren’t really dancing even. They just sort of...swayed. And it all felt perfect.

Simon sighed, squeezing Baz’s hand. “This is great, innit?” he asked quietly.

“I suppose...” Baz said, a bit more cautious than Simon would have liked.

“C’mon,” Simon said, pulling Baz closer, “try to have fun. Just because we’re gonna do something serious doesn’t mean we can’t have fun first.”

Baz’s brows furrowed, mouth pulling into a frown. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

Simon frowned back even harder. “What do you mean what am I talking about? Have you forgotten the plan already?” He shook his head. “Nevermind, let’s just finish this song.”

Simon pressed closer, leaning on Baz’s shoulder. He was surprised how soft Baz felt. The embroidery on the suit was supposed to be pretty rough. Simon didn’t care. All he could think about was being close to Baz right now. Just like how they would be forever soon.

“Simon,” Baz whispered, close to his ear. Simon just hummed and closed his eyes, wanting to sink into the feeling. “Simon, listen to me.”

“What?” Simon grumbled.

“Simon, I have no clue why, but I think you think I’m him. I’m not him.”

Simon’s head bolted up. His heart was thumping a mile a minute. He looked at Baz. His mouth was all pinched in concerned, but his eyes were wide. Simon couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“What? What are you on about?” he hissed in reply.

Baz leaned closer, their faces a breath apart. “Simon, I don’t know his name, but whoever he is, I’m not him. You obviously think I am and I don’t know why, but I’m _not._  Do you understand? I’m not who you want.”

Quickly, Simon stepped back, though their hands were still joined. He looked over Baz, examining his face. His sharp cheekbones, his soft black hair, his grey eyes. He looked perfect. Actually...almost too perfect. He was practically fucking glowing. Normal people didn’t glow. Why hadn’t Simon noticed that before? He squeezed Baz’s hand, and his skin wasn’t rough. Baz’s hands were _always_ rough. And though he saw it on Baz’s bony digit, Simon didn’t feel the cool metal of his gold signet ring. Simon looked closer at Baz’s face. For a moment, just one moment, he swore Baz’s eyes flickered into a different colour. From deep sea grey to golden brown.

Simon stepped further away very quickly. He blinked rapidly. Baz was glowing, very brightly, truly blurring the world around him. Every part of Simon was telling him not to look but he refused to turn away. Why couldn’t he look at it? Why was Baz looking so damn perfect but acting so weird? Fucking hell, why was Simon's head so hot?

It hit him like a ton of bricks. He ripped the crown from his head and threw it to the ground. It hit the marble with a loud crash. The crown was making a high pitched whine, which slowly died away, along with a glow in the purple gem.

Simon looked up again. The glow was gone. The ballroom was still pretty, but didn’t look like a dream anymore. And standing in front of Simon wasn’t Baz. It was Agatha, dressed in a lovely pink gown, eyes wide and looking extremely concerned. Simon’s eyes swept around the ballroom. _Everyone_ looked very concerned. Considering the prince just threw his own crown to the floor, it was a natural reaction. Simon’s gaze eventually fell to the dais, to David. He didn’t look like everyone else though. If Simon was a betting man, he’d say the King looked scared.

And everything slid into place. Everything just made sense. Like puzzle pieces, or books fitting perfectly on a shelf, or something else like that. All the questions that Simon had never bothered to ask, too focused on just getting Baz free, ran through his brain.

Who stood to benefit the most from Queen Natasha dying and Baz disappearing?

Who was powerful enough to cast such a complicated curse?

Who would want Simon to declare his undying love to the wrong person?

Who had given Simon a crown that made him think Agatha was Baz?

It all made so much sense. Simon’s stomach dropped to the floor, muscles shaking. He and David were locked in the staring contest. He wanted to scream “why?!” in front of everyone, force David to explain himself in front of the entire damn court. But all he could do breathe harshly through his nose, nails almost piercing the flesh of his palm. Everything, all of this suffering, was all because of _him._

“Simon...” Penelope’s voice said from next to him. He must’ve not heard her approach in his blinding rage. She tugged lightly on his sleeve. “Si, look out the window, behind us,” she whispered.

Simon looked at her. She cautiously pointed over her shoulder. He whipped his head around, looking up towards the large window. It was hard to see in the dark, but Simon caught a flash of orange and a glint of silver. There was a slight tap, tap, tap noise. Though it was hard from a distant, Simon finally met his eyes. Simon’s lips fell open. Baz, the real Baz, was flying right outside the castle. Gods know where he was before.

“Oh gods,” he finally said.

Baz turned and flew away back into the night. Suddenly, the crowd started simmering with murmurs and contained gasps. Simon whipped around. His blood started boiling. The dais was empty. David was gone.

“Fucking hell,” Simon hissed. “Baz is going to the lake and David’s following him”

“You think?” Penny asked, still standing next to him after everything.

“Definitely. Baz is going to want to be human again and David’s going to try to get there before him.” He turned to her, gripping both her shoulders tight. “Pen, do you think you and Agatha can keep everyone here calm while I go? I-I need to go help-”

Penny gripped his hand back. “Yeah, of course. We can do crowd control. You need to get there quickly, and maybe pick up a weapon.”

Simon nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, definitely. Uh...” He remembered that his sword was all the way in the other wing of the castle. He swept over the crowd, until he saw pale blue. He ran impossibly quick towards her, Penny behind him, until he was gripping Philippa’s shoulder. “Philippa, did you bring your sword?”

“Um, yeah. Simon, what’s going on? Where’s the king gone?”

“Long story. Penny can tell you and Agatha the short version. Did you bring your sword?!”

“Yes, yes! It’s still on my horse. My parents wouldn’t let me bring it in.”

Simon let out a long breath. “Can I borrow them? The horse and the sword? I’ll bring them back, and I have a good reason, I promise.”

Philippa scanned him over. Simon wondered if she was checking him for mental issues. He only hoped she trusted him enough to not question. And when she nodded, he let out a sigh of relief. “Alright. My horse is the white mare with the black saddle bags.”

Simon hugged her so hard his own arms hurt. “Thank you so much, you have no idea what this means.”

“Yeah, I don’t,” Philippa chuckled. “But I trust you have some noble reason. So get going.”

“Right right.” Simon pulled away and turned on his heels. Agatha and Penelope were right behind him. He quickly hugged them both at the same time. “Thanks to you two as well, for everything. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

They squeezed Simon back, then Simon had to break away. He let his friends go and dashed out the doors. He could hear the murmurs turn into shouts behind him. But soon those were drowned out by three very strong women who were not having any sort of panic right now. Simon grinned to himself, but made sure to keep running. He flew across the stone floors, letting the grey walls become mere blurs. At the same time, he ripped off his restrictive clothes. Gone were his embroidered jacket, his cuffs, even his fancy shoes. He arrived at the stables only in socks and took just enough time to grab a pair of riding boots that looked like they fit.

Philippa’s mare was luckily quite nearby. She whinnied and bucked away from Simon at first. He approached her with an outstretched hand, shushing her until she finally calmed down. But when he tried to mount her, she panicked all over again.

“Come on,” Simon groaned. “I don’t have time for this.” No matter what he did, the mare kept bucking away. “Oh, fuck this.”

Simon pulled out the sword, not even bothering with the sheath, and ran out onto the great lawn. He was running out of time. No doubt David was riding on his damn cloud to Baz already. Simon needed to get there soon. He needed to be there _now._ If only he was like Baz, the wind carrying him where he needed to go.

A pain shot through Simon’s back. He seized up and fell to his knees on the grass. There was the sound of fabric ripping. It was hard to tell through all the pain, but Simon swore he felt something...growing from there. When he opened his squeezed eyes again, his jaw dropped. The moonlight and castle torches illuminated his back. And along with his normal shadow was the silhouette of two enormous wings. Simon turned his head, and there they were. Real, honest to the gods wings. They were large and made from pitch black feathers. Simon barely felt their weight, but when he flexed his shoulders they flapped.

“Okay,” Simon panted. “I can work with this.”

He closed his eyes, and pictured himself flying upwards. Before he knew it, Simon was soaring through the sky. The wings flapped so hard the air roared in his ears. The houses were tiny beneath him and the people were barely ants. He honestly didn’t understand what he was doing, but he didn’t care. All Simon cared about was getting to Baz as soon as possible. And when he saw the edges of the Forbidden Lands, he flew faster.

* * *

 

Baz had never flown so fast in his entire life. He was used to a leisurely pace, gliding around or above people. Now he was flapping as hard as he could, so much his wings hurt.

Simon had been dancing with that blonde girl with a sort of dazed, dreamy expression. The way he sometimes looked Baz. Baz had tapped the glass all he could and Simon didn’t hear a thing. He had almost left, heartbroken and resigned to his fate.

But then Simon had tossed that crown off so dramatically, looked to the King, then finally to him. And that look in his eye said it all. Simon was unbelievably shocked to see him. Just shocked, not angry or even guilty. It gave Baz the tiniest glimmer of hope. Hope that there Simon was still able to break the curse. So he needed to go to that damn lake then get back to that castle. Baz didn’t know how the curse worked exactly, but he absolutely wanted to be stuck as a _human._ He wasn’t taking any chances.

Before he knew it, Baz arrived at his stupid lake. He nosedived towards the water. Baz had never transformed in motion before. It was very strange. He spread his wings to slow himself down, but soon was flapping his arms like an idiot. Instead of honking he was panting, and treading little webbed feet became toes pounding against the pond floor. Baz barely even noticed the pain of changing he was so frantic. He splashed water every which way as he sprinted, scaring his poor swan friends. He’d apologize later.

Luckily, his clothes were still sitting in disarray on the ground. Baz threw on the tunic and trousers as he raced towards the cottage. He practically fell on top of his cot, throwing off the pillow, and he let out a long sigh of relief.

“Thank the gods,” he whispered, snatching the wand and going back towards the door.

Baz knew exactly what he was going to do. The plan was crystal clear in his mind; Use the wand to levitate up, run as fast as he could to the castle, and get to Simon. They needed to stand up in front of those nobles as Simon declared his feelings, before the man found out. He needed to get there now and-

Just as Baz stepped out the door, he froze in place. There, right in front of him, stood the King of Watford himself. He looked far less disheveled at the ball though. Now his cape was torn up, crown askew, a furious sort of look in his eyes. There was a sword in one of his hands and a wand in the other. It became so clear in an instant. Baz held his head high to mask his fear.

“Hello, sir,” he said as smoothly as possible. “I got out of the chains.”

“I can see that,” David growled. His eyes flicked down to Baz’s wand. “And I see Simon did more than promise to break your curse.”

Baz clutched the wand tighter. “Yes, he did. And he found out who I am too. So, I’m guessing you started the castle fire, killed the Queen, and made everyone think I was dead so you could to take the throne.”

David scowled even deeper. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh? What other reason would you have? A fun little prank?” Baz stepped forward with shoulders still squared. “You murdered my mother in cold blood, ripped me away from my family, and cursed me for six fucking years. All for some goddamn crown.”

“No!” David barked. “It’s not like that! It’s-” He sighed, and it quickly became a low, almost menacing chuckle. “What am I doing? I don’t have to explain myself to you. You’re just an arrogant brat, even worse than your mother.” He flicked up his wand. “I could try to mess with your memory, like I did after the fire and to Vera when I let her go. But there’s a lot to erase now, I suppose.” He raised his sword next, a menacing grin on his face. “Or, I could just dispense myself of your troublesome behind. And I think you’ve outlived your usefulness, Basil.”

Baz felt all his confidence drain out of him in an instant, along with all the blood in his face. His arm shot up. **_“Infer-”_ **

David smacked it out of his with one hit of his sword pommel. The wand sputtered out a few useless sparks on the the grass. Baz stepped away, and David stepped closer. He slipped his wand into his cape and grasped his sword with both hands. The steel glinted in the floating lights.

“Goodbye, Basilton,” David said. “Tell her majesty I say hello.”

“No!”

A loud thunk made Baz turn his head. There he was on the roof of his cottage he stood, with a tattered silk shirt, huge black feathered wings, and a longsword that wasn’t his own in hand. He looked like a god, or maybe a demon. Either way, he looked like a force to be reckoned with.

“Simon,” David said, almost sounding exasperated. “Good evening, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, shit is getting real my dudes. Personally I loved switching between Simon and Baz's perspectives. It was so much fun. Also I know it's no big surprise Davy was behind all this. That wasn't really meant to be a twist for the reader tbh, more a twist for Simon himself. Like it says, he was so focused on just getting Baz free he didn't consider why Baz was taken in the first place, and Baz got caught up in it too. So yeah, this is me over explaining again lol. Next time, there's gonna be a rumble toniiiight! (Yes I'm a musical theatre nerd and West Side Story is the best). Chapter 16 will be posted next Monday :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun writer fact about me: in order to finish a work, I have to write it in chronological order. I can't write random scenes then link them together because I need the scenes I really want to write as motivation to write the whole fic. Gotta have that reward to push myself to write the stuff I'm not sure on, y'know?
> 
> 90% of this chapter are scenes I had to make myself wait for. Enjoy :)

"Hello, son."

Simon gripped his sword handle even tighter. Just looking down at his smug mustached face made his blood boil. There was absolutely no shock left, just pure unadulterated fury. This was the damn monster who had hurt Baz, cursed him, taken him away from his family, murdered his mother. And he had been sitting under Simon’s nose the entire time.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” Simon spat.

David scoffed. “You’re a bit perturbed, I see.”

“A bit!?” Simon jumped up off the roof, letting his new wings help his landing between David and Baz. He shoved his face into the king's, scowling hard. “Fuck you!”

“Very eloquent, Simon. Now leave, this doesn't concern you.”

"Like hell it doesn't! Stay away from Baz!"

David's face looked so smug, so fucking arrogant, it made Simon's blood turn to fire. "No, and I'd like to see you try to stop me."

Simon saw red. All logic went away in an instant. He roared and swung his sword. David easily blocked it, but Simon swung again with barely a pause, forcing him to step back. Simon kept it up. He was absolutely relentless in his blows, not even giving David time to breathe. It was how he always fought. Unfortunately, he always sparred with David.

Once they reached the lake, Davy dug his feet in and pushed his sword against Simon’s. Simon was filled with so much blinding anger he just pushed back. They locked blades, glaring into each other’s eyes. Until David stepped back and spun on his heels.

“Gah!” Simon exclaimed as he fell face first into the water and dirt David scoffed, swinging his sword back and forth. The sound lit a fire in Simon’s stomach.

“Really, Simon,” David sighed, “that was far too easy. I’ve told you, brute force is useless without control. And you have none.”

Simon growled, looking over his shoulder. “Fuck you.”

“Again, very eloquent.” Simon tried to push himself up, but quickly felt a boot pressed down firmly between his new wings, forcing him into the mud. “So, this is why you’ve been tired and acting strange. Been sneaking off to see Basil, hm? Pathetic. Sacrificing your future for love, it’s so sad.”

“Fuck-”

David pressed on him harder, pushing the air from his lungs. Simon tried to lift his sword, but David pushed it away. He chuckled low in his throat. “Pathetic, really. And here I thought I trained you better. Oh well, I-”

**_“Blow wind, blow!”_ **

A boom rang through the lake. David was sent flying face first into the opposite dirt wall. He slid to the ground with no sign of moving. Simon took a deep, sputtering breath. He struggled to his feet, nearly falling more once, and turned around. Baz stood behind him, wand pointed forward, hand shaking violently. His sat in that horrible between of determined and terrified. Simon couldn’t blame him. He had just attacked the king, his captor, who he’d been taught to never even defy for so long.

Simon grabbed his sword and scrambled up to Baz at the same time Baz ran to him. They threw their arms around each other, clutching tight.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Simon choked out.

“Me too,” Baz whispered. “I saw you with that girl, and for a moment I thought-”

“I didn’t!” Simon pulled back, gripping Baz’s biceps tight. “I didn’t say it. And Davy, he made me think she was you. Put a spell on my crown. I thought it was you! I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Snow, it’s okay. I could tell you didn’t when you looked at me. I don’t blame you.”

“And I didn’t know it was him, that Davy was the man. I-I didn’t, I should’ve. He was always power hungry, I just never thought he would...” Simon shuddered. All this time, Baz’s captor, the person Simon hated the most, was the man he had to call father. Who was right there. Who Simon could've confronted any time.

Baz cupped his face, thumbs running under his eyes. “I know, love, I know. _I_ should’ve known once we found out I was the prince, it was too obvious. I just wanted to get out of here, I didn’t care about who he was.”

“M-Me neither. Come on, we have to-”

“Get down!

Baz shoved Simon to the side while he hurled himself back and to the side, stumbling and falling, hitting his head on the cottage with a horrible thunk. Simon looked up. David’s sword was exactly where his own head had just been. The look in the kind's blue eyes was akin to a forest fire. Raging, uncontrollable, and damn deadly. Simon raised his sword again.

“Don’t you touch him,” he growled.

David chuckled. “And you’re going to stop me?”

Simon made his stance ever steadier. “Yes. I’m never letting you hurt him or anyone else ever again.”

“If you say so, son.”

David swung down, but Simon blocked him. He tried to use his usual technique but David knew how to counter it. Of course he did, he had sparred with Simon for years. He never gave Simon a chance to land any sort of impactful blow. He countered every hit perfectly. Soon Simon hit the lake’s wall. He was pushing on David’s blade again, the roots digging into his back and crushing his wings. Their breathing was harsh, eyes locked together.

“Why?” Simon choked out. “You put Baz through absolute Hell, and for what? Some-some damn crown!?”

“No,” David growled, pushing harder. “I did it for _change,_ Simon. The royals stepped on everyone before. Natasha may have had some great ideas about ruling, but she was no different than the rest of her family. Like Basil would’ve been if I allowed him to stay there. Things needed to change, and only I could change them! Can’t you understand that?!”

Simon growled and pushed himself. He was so close he could smell David’s hot breath. “I _understand_ that you murdered Queen Natasha and fucking cursed Baz. There’s no excuse for that!”

David sighed, shaking his head. “You’re thinking of things too simply, Simon. I had to do it. It was the only way, I had to take control.”

“By burning a whole castle down?”

“Yes!” David pushed so hard Simon’s head slammed into a thick root. “You just don’t understand, Simon. I did all of this for us, for you! So we could take from those noble pricks what they stole. That’s what I did! I burned their palace, stole their treasures, and took the throne. And there was nothing they could do about it! Now I take their riches, no matter how they protest, because I am the king and they cannot defy me!”

Simon’s eyes widened. Of course, the secret room, with magnificent things that should’ve burned away. Simon hated how much these revelations made sense. How his entire royal life was a was built on death and suffering.

“You’re insane,” Simon said quietly. “You’re just completely, utterly mental. How could you ever think any of this was okay?”

“I did what everyone else was too weak to do!” David roared, spitting in Simon’s face. “I sacrificed everything for this. _Everything._ You will never understand!”

“Oh, but I understand,” a smooth voice said. Simon looked over David’s shoulder, and there stood his love, twirling the bone wand in his hand. A small trickle of blood fell down his forehead but otherwise she looked okay. In fact, he looked smug. “I understand that you killed and hurt people for some misplaced ideals, when all you really wanted was power to compensate for obvious inadequacy issues.”

David turned his head and scowled deeper. “Why won’t you just stay down, you little-”

Simon kneed his hard in the stomach. David wheezed, stumbling away. It gave Simon enough room to lift himself away, feet hovering just above the king’s head. Baz pointed the wand out.

**_“Inferno!”_ **

A torrent of flames unleashed from the tip. David barely had time to take out his own wand to block it. The fire sprayed out around him like in a bubble shaped arc. He was obviously struggling against Baz’s magic. Baz was always best at fire. But the furious king marched forward, shaky step with shaky step. He was getting dangerously close, sword raised and ready. Simon’s breath hitched. He looked down at his own sword.

“Baz!” He yelled. Baz’s head snapped up, eyes wide and confused. “Catch!”

Simon threw down his sword. And Baz, always impressive, always incredible, caught it with his free hand. It was just in time for David to break through the fire. Their swords clashed, the lake ringing with the terrible sound steel scraping on steel.

“Simon taught me to use this too,” Baz said, voice dripping with smug self satisfaction.

David made an angry noise and swung down. His blows were hard, but Baz was fast. He dodged and parried just like he and Simon practiced. Not a single one of David’s swings breached his defenses. He was as swift as the wind, just downright incredible. Simon watched in awe for far too long before realising he could help.

Baz had thrown the wand to the side in favour of swinging his sword. Simon was still floating above them on his strange dark wings. He dived downward, scooped up the wand, and flew again. He pointed downward at David.

**_“Away with you!”_ ** He shouted. But the magic stopped in his arm, jamming up and fizzing out like it had the bad habit of doing when he was nervous. David gave him a smug look. An expression that said, _“of course you couldn’t do it.”_ Simon’s anger surged. He looked down at Baz, parrying David’s blows still. The idea rushing into his head like a flood.

Just as he was able to get some space from David, Simon nosedived to Baz. He put a hand on his shoulder and held the wand out. Baz flicked his eyes to him. The understanding was immediately apparent. He snatched the wand from Simon, pointed it at the charging David, and Simon pushed his power into Baz.

**_“Away with you!”_ **His voice was so booming the branches shook. The magic surged and exploded outwards. David once again was sent flying away, smacking into the dirt wall. But when he struggle to lift his arm, it went flat against the wall again. They all breathed heavily. It was loud in the relatively quiet space.

“This is over, David,” Baz said flatly. “You’re finished.”

“No it isn’t,” David spit. “I am still King!”

“Not for much longer. You’ll be in the dungeons soon if I have anything to say about it.”

“We should kill you for all this. Right here, right now,” Simon snarled. He was filled with so much anger he felt like he would burst.

David chuckled, low in his throat. He grinned ear to ear. It was so annoying and smug. “You do that, and Watford will have a swan for a king forever.”

Both Simon and Baz’s eyes went saucer plate way. Simon’s hand was tight on Baz’s shoulder. “What?”

“Didn’t you read Swan Lake, Simon? I’m guessing that's how you found out about the curse. Lady Stainton told me her daughter showed you the old fairytales. I used the same ancient spellbook as Rothbart. If you kill me, Basil here will never be free of the curse.”

Simon felt Baz tense up under him. The wand was shaking in his white knuckled grip.

“No,” Simon said shakily. “Curses, they can always be broken. The backlash-”

“Who cares for backlash when you’re dead?!” David laugh yelled. “You’ll have to keep me alive until you break the curse. If you can break it, that is. Who knows? I may have altered the spell, you don’t know.”

Simon hated it, but David had a point. Even if he was lying he still had a point. And when Baz looked over his shoulder, his tight mouth told Simon he thought the same. They’d need to find a way to restrain him to take him back to the castle. Hopefully the court and council would still be there, so they could explain everything. Hopefully the curse could be broken the way they thought. Maybe-

David was running towards them with sword raised high, crazily yelling at the top of his lungs. Everything was happening in slow motion. Baz was frozen in shock and terror as the blade got closer and closer, steel shining in the light, almost inches away from his face. Simon was a trained fighter, and his instincts instantly took over. He snatched Philippa’s sword from Baz’s hand and raised it upwards until it went right through David's gut.

The whole world stopped in that moment. All three of them were motionless. The only sound was their breathing and David’s blood slowly dripping from the sword’s blade. Simon's eyes slowly raised until they met his adoptive father’s. The terrible, evil man, who took him in when no else did. David’s face was so complicated. He looked surprised, horrified, just plain scared, and maybe even hurt. Simon looked at him, and didn’t know how he felt, except utter shock.

Baz’s hand slowly curled over Simon’s, nails digging into his skin. Together they pulled the sword from the king. It finally came out with a disgusting wet sucking noise. David instantly fell to his knees, then down flat on his face. Simon dropped the sword next. His breathing got harsher and harsher.

“Oh gods,” he said. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods! H-He’s dead! I-I killed him! The curse, the curse it can’t- no!”

“He could’ve been lying,” Baz said, but his voice didn’t sound certain.

Simon ran his hands through his head. “No no, we can’t- you won’t- Fuck. Fuck!” He fell to his knees in front of the dead king. Just as dead as Simon’s hope. “You fucking prick! Gods, you just had to- You absolute fuck!”

Salt water fell down Simon’s cheek, creating rushing rivers on his skin. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He felt as Baz sat next to him, gripping his shoulder. Simon turned and hugged Baz to him.

“I’m so sorry, Baz,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident, I thought- I thought he was gonna-”

“Shh,” Baz whispered, “I know, I know. You were just protecting me, you amazing courageous fuck. It’s alright.”

“It’s not, it’s not! You deserve better, you shouldn’t be here!”

Baz cupped the back of Simon’s head. Simon felt dampness against his temple. “I’ll be okay, Simon.”

Simon pulled back and grabbed Baz’s own tear stained cheeks, staring directly into his blood shot eyes. “I’m staying. Here, in the lake. I’ll live here with you.”

Baz’s eyes went huge. He shook his head in Simon’s hands. “No, Simon you shouldn’t. You have friends, a life!”

“I don’t care!” He ran his thumbs under Baz’s eyes. “I promised that you wouldn't be alone and I fucking meant it. Cursed or not, you’re _not_ going to be by yourself ever again.”

Simon watched as Baz’s expression broke. Just everything crumbling and falling apart in an instant. Tears flowed freely from him, pride no longer holding them back. This time he pulled Simon into his arms, burying his face in Simon’s neck. Simon hugged him just as tight. Baz’s shuddering breaths tickled his skin. They sat there and cried together, never to be separated again, Simon’s wings shielding them from the world.

“I don’t know how much it’s worth now,” Simon whispered between crying, “but I love you, Baz, undyingly.”

Baz squeezed him and let out a breath. “I love you, too, Simon. So much.”

The two boys held each other in a death grip. And they were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t hear David behind him. The king was almost motionless on the ground. His fingers twitched as he took two more shallow, wet, sputtering breaths. Then his soul finally left his broken body, mere seconds after the boys spoke.

The curse said that someone who had never been in love before had to confess their undying love to the world while the caster still lived. And Simon had just declared his love to _his_ world, currently wrapped up in his arms.

They still hugged, barely letting up their grip. Simon kept his eyes squeezed shut, just taking Baz in by his smell and touch. He wanted to savour everything about him even when he was dirty and bleeding. He didn’t care. It was Baz. He’d have Baz in whatever way he could. When his tears finally slowed to a trickle and his breathing came under control, he slowly blinked open his gummy, tear blurred eyes. They were instantly flooded with soft light.

Simon gasped, fingers digging into Baz’s skin. His heart was beating faster than a rabbit’s. His voice was caught in his throat so bad that all he could do was rapidly smack Baz’s back at first.

“Snow, what-” Baz started.

“Baz, Baz, look! Look up!”

Baz slowly raised his head. When he opened his eyes, Simon saw the revelation hit his face. Like someone had smacked him and punched him in the gut all at once. He whipped his head around. Towards the sun just over the horizon.

“The sun,” Baz whispered. “The sun, it’s...”

“It’s up!” Simon finished. “And you’re...you!”

Baz looked down at himself. He pulled his hands to him, gaping as he turned them slowly. He touched his chest, his thighs, his collarbone, neck, and face. All resoundingly human in the early morning light.

“I’m not a swan,” he whispered.

“You’re not,” Simon laughed.

Baz’s gaping slowly became a wide smile. “The curse is broken.”

“It is!”

Baz met Simon’s eyes. They were wide and filled with wonder. “I’m free.”

Simon held Baz’s face with his own huge grin. “You are!”

Baz started laughing under his breath, slowly becoming louder and louder until he was crying again, but with tears of joy. Simon cried as well. They leaned together until their foreheads met. Once again, they held each other tight. Simon surged forward to capture Baz’s mouth. It was less a kiss and more just wanting to be as close as possible to him. Baz did the exact same thing. Their lips were smashed together, barely moving, except for hands running through hair and over skin.

They only pulled apart when air was needed. Their breathing was hard but they didn’t care, they were happy. After many moments, Baz pulled further away. His eyes went to over Simon’s shoulder. Suddenly, his expression fell.

“What are we going to do about him?” he said gravely.

Simon stiffened. He turned his head, looking behind him in profile. David’s body was still face down in the grass though no longer bleeding. Just looking made his gut twist.

“I don’t know,” Simon said. “He’s too heavy to carry.”

“I know this sounds cold, but...could we...leave him here? Just for now? I feel like we need to get to the castle first. While the court’s probably still there. They'll all want to hear about...all of this.”

“Y-Yeah, agreed.” Simon’s voice was strained. His throat felt dry.

Baz cupped Simon’s cheek tenderly. “I’m sorry, Simon. I wish it didn’t end like this.”

Simon leaned into his touch, eyes shut. “I know, thank you. I’m more sorry _he_ had to end it like this.”

Baz sighed, nodding slowly. “Me too.”

Simon went to his feet and offered his hand. “Come on, we need to get to the castle. You’ve got to meet your family.”

Baz smiled softly. He nodded and took Simon’s hand. Simon pulled him quickly to his feet. They laced their fingers together and squeezed. Baz leaned slightly to the side. “Think those wings could get us there?”

Simon flexed his shoulders. The black wings flapped hard enough to make Baz’s hair fly back.

“I think so,” Simon said with a smirk. “Get on my back.”

Simon turned and bent forward. He felt Baz climbed on, arms around his neck and legs snug on Simon’s thighs. He held Baz’s legs securely.

“Off we go.”

Once again, Simon imagined flying, and the wings started flapping. They lifted both Simon and Baz off the ground. And as they went up, Simon stole one last glance at David’s body. But then he faced forward again, towards the light ahead, and he didn’t look back.

* * *

 

They stood together in front of the large, closed double doors of the ballroom. Simon didn’t even think about how bad they looked. Filthy, bloody, and breathing harshly. Baz clutched Simon’s wand in one hand. With every passing second the grip got tighter.

“You ready?” Simon asked quietly.

“No,” Baz replied, “but I’m not sure I’ll ever be.”

Simon reached forward and brushed Baz’s wrist. “I’m right here.”

Baz’s lip quirked up. “I know, Simon. Thank you.” He looked up. “You might want to get rid of those before we go in.”

Simon looked behind him. Right, the black swan wings, they were still there. “Oh, yeah, good point.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured the wings being pulled inside himself. And they did. Simon hissed with the slight pain of them folding inwards. He opened his eyes again, smiling at Baz. “Better?”

“Better,” he sighed. Baz faced the door again. He took a deep breath. In through his nose, slowly out from his mouth. “Let’s do this.”

Baz raised his wand, arm straight as a board. **_“Open up!”_ **

The doors flew open with a loud bang. Simon almost rolled his eyes. Of course he had to make an entrance.

The entire court was still there. Simon thanked the gods Penelope, Philippa, and Agatha were so amazing. But the nobles certainly all looked a little disheveled. Simon assumed they had spent a while shouting and panicking. They all went silent and turned their heads towards the noise though. Baz stood for a moment, then marched forward his head held as high as possible.

“My name,” he announced, “is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, only child of the late Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch. I have come here to reclaim my title and throne.”

Silence reigned like a tyrant. Everyone was too shocked to even speak. Simon scanned the room. Lord Wellbelove’s mouth was wide open, and Lady Wellbelove had a hand over her’s. Agatha was wide eyed, but didn't look too surprised. Philippa and her parents were frozen in place. Only Penelope looked mostly normal, but she still wasn’t moving. The only person Simon didn’t see was-

Lord and Lady Stainton shouted as they were shoved out of the way. Between them emerged Lord Grimm. He was breathing harshly, his white hair a complete mess, and eyes so shocked they bordered on crazed. Simon had never seen him look something other than bored. It was strange, but he was glad Malcolm was actually capable of reacting like a human. He practically ran forward until there was barely two feet between him and Baz. Simon stepped to the side. He wanted them to have their moment.

“Basil?” Malcolm said quietly, filled with wonder. “Is...is that really you?”

Baz looked a bit taken aback. He flicked his eyes to Simon for a moment. Simon nodded, and he looked back to Malcolm.

“You’re my father, right?” Baz said. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember much from before the fire, my memories were...messed with. But I’m pretty sure you and my mother gave me this.”

Baz reached into his shirt and pulled out his necklace, holding it in front of him. Malcolm’s eyes somehow got even bigger. With shaky fingers, he reached up to hold the token. He traced the pattern then slowly turned it over. He let out a choked sob, one hand over his mouth.

“Heavens,” he said with a strained voice. He looked up and put a hand on Baz’s cheek. His expression could only be described as utterly joyful. “It’s really you. Thank all the bloody gods, my boy is alive.”

He threw his arms around Baz, squeezing him tight. Baz froze at first. But slowly, he hugged him back, putting his hands on Malcolm back. His face crumpled, eyes squeezed tight. Simon saw all of Baz’s put on confidence fall away as he hugged his own father for the first time in his living memory. They held each other for a long time while everyone was silent. But soon someone else pushed through the crowd. Her black hair and fine outfit were in disarray, but she was smiling so hard her sharp face must hurt. She stepped forward as Baz and Malcolm separated.

Lady Fiona reached, a hand on Baz’s shoulder, moving up until she held his face, wiping his wet cheek with her thumb. “Oh little puff,” she said through her own tears. “You’ve gotten so big. You look just like your mum.”

Baz chuckled, though it sounded a but funny through the crying. Fiona hugged him, and Malcolm joined her. Baz hugged them back without hesitation. It seemed their arms were only barely holding each other up. Simon smiled to himself. Even after all the horrors of tonight, there could still be something good. He felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned, there were Penny, Agatha, and Philippa, smiling as well. Yes, this was certainly something good in all the darkness.

* * *

 

“Simon, would you please stop pacing?” Agatha asked. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Simon did not stop pacing. In fact, he started pacing faster. Agatha groaned and fell back on Simon’s bed. Penelope and Philippa sighed from the couch and armchair respectively.

“You really don’t have to panic, Si,” Penelope said.

“I actually think I do,” Simon chuckled in that sort of strange, terrified way. “Because Baz has been with the council for an hour, after we were with them for hours, oh, and I killed the king. Panic is a great emotion right now!”

Philippa smoothed out her skirt, a sort of zoned out expression on her face. “Can’t believe my sword was used to kill the king.”

Simon winced and turned to her. “Sorry about that, Philippa. Hopefully you’ll get it back.”

“Oh, it’s alright if I don’t. Not sure I want a sword used to kill royalty, even if he was going to kill you and that Basil guy.” She looked up with furrowed brows. “Is he really Queen Natasha’s son? The dead prince?”

Simon finally stopped, and nodded slowly. “Yeah, he is.”

“So,” Agatha sat up on her elbows, “he was the long story you meant to tell me later?”

Simon nodded again. “Yeah. Penny told you?"

"Yes, most it. Said you needed my father’s journal to confirm Prince Tyrannus wasn’t actually dead and really could be your cursed lover."

"Which he is."

"And," Penny added, "now we know David took Baz from the castle fire so he could have the crown and cursed him to keep him from trying to escape again and reveal the prince was still alive, therefore kicking him off the throne.”

Simon finally stopped pacing. A sharp pain ripped through his heart. He walked over and sat heavily on the red satin couch next to Penelope. “I always knew David was ambitious," he mumbled, "but I still can’t believe he did something so...so evil.”

All three of them looked at Simon sympathetically. Penelope put her arm around him, and he leaned into her. She ran a soothing hand over his hair.

“He was terrible," Simon whispered. "I know that. He killed the queen, he hurt Baz, and I had to stop him from killing him. But...”

“I know, Si, I know," Penny said, running a hand up his arm. "He still took you in. He was still a father to you in a way.”

Simon turned into her shoulder. “I just wanted him to stop him from hurting us. He...he didn’t have to die. I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted him to stop, why wouldn’t he stop?”

Penelope squeezed his shoulder. The couch dipped as Agatha sat next to him. Her arm joined Penny’s. Philippa sat in front of him with a hand on his knee. Simon let himself sink into the feeling of all three of them, his friends, holding him up while his world felt like it was falling apart.

“What if they don’t believe me? Or Baz?” he asked. “W-What if we’re executed for killing a king and impersonating a prince?”

“We won’t let that happen, Simon,” Penelope said. “They’ll have to fight through us before they get near the two of you.”

“Agreed,” Agatha added.

“Damn right,” Philippa said with an almost devilish smile.

Simon smiled down at all of them. His amazing friends. He didn’t know what he would do without them. “You’re all the best. What the hell did I do to deserve friends like you?”

Agatha shrugged. “No idea. Must be your stuttering charm.”

They all laughed together. And Simon’s heart felt a bit lighter, a bit more free. He needed that taste of levity after tonight. Something to tell him that even though everything was different now, it would still be okay.

The door creaked open and everyone’s heads snapped up. A head full of tangled black hair poked inside. Baz looked at them, and raised an eyebrow.

“Am I late to some sort of party?” he asked. Simon started standing up. His friends let him go so he could stumble his way into Baz’s embrace. Baz chuckled and hugged him back. “I’m alright, love, don’t worry.”

“Was the council okay?” he mumbled into Baz’s shoulder.

“They’re still bloody arseholes," Fiona announced as she walked in. "But they seem to rightfully believe Basil is who he says he is.”

“Thankfully,” Malcolm added as he followed, closing the door behind him.

Simon pulled away from Baz, looking at Lady Pitch and Lord Grimm. The two stood next to the door like tall, stern statues. Simon gulped.

“Um,” he started, “nice...to see you two again, your lord and ladyship. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Baz before. Uh, I thought-”

“Stop stuttering, princeling,” Fiona sighed. “Basil explained it all to us and the council. Where he was, the bloody curse, how you found him, everything. Honestly, I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me outright. Probably would’ve cuffed you so hard your brains would rattle.”

Simon gulped again. “Right, yeah, uh, I-I can see why you would do that...” He looked at Baz again, eyes wide. “You told them...everything?”

Baz reached down and firmly grasped Simon’s hand. He brought it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the back. Simon turned red with embarrassment. “Yes, I did.”

Simon’s eyes flicked between the stone faces of Fiona and Malcolm before going back to Baz. “And...they’re okay with...”

“You saved my nephew’s life,” Fiona said. “Davy’s princeling or not, you brought him back to us. You could be a bloody demon for all I care, really. And after all he’s been through, I just want Basil to be happy.”

Simon nodded, then looked to Malcolm. He was the one Simon worried more about. Lord Grimm had a reputation for not liking most things or people. And though his expression didn’t change like usual, he did nod.

“I won’t lie, Prince," he said, voice strong but relatively neutral. "You would not be my first choice of...partner for my son. But I agree with Fiona. I’m not going to berate Basil's choices in love after just getting him back. I’m mostly glad Davy was actually telling the truth all these years.”

“What does that mean?” Philippa asked.

“Good question,” Agatha added.

Fiona glared at them. “And how is this any of your business?”

“Hey,” Penny snapped, “we helped too. I kept the court in line tonight, Agatha figured out Simon was under David’s spell, and Philippa gave him her sword. On top of that, we all helped Simon figure out Baz’s curse and who he really was. Without us, your nephew wouldn’t be here. We’re just as much a part of this.”

The other two girls nodded. Simon tried to hide his proud grin. Fiona and Malcolm looked like they were about to go off, but when Baz looked at them, they stopped in place.

“It’s alright,” Baz said. “You can tell them.” He looked at the girls with a soft smile. “Lovely to meet you all, by the way. I hope we get more acquainted.”

“Mother of the gods, you were right, Simon,” Penny laughed. “He does talk like Queen Natasha’s books.”

Simon snorted out loud, while Fiona, Agatha, and Philippa at least had the courtesy of covering their mouths. Baz glared at him, but when Simon squeezed his hand, he still smiled. Simon led him to sit on the end of his bed.

“So, uh, what did David do?” Simon said,

Malcolm and Fiona shifted uncomfortably. Agatha, Philippa, and Penelope all straightened up on the couch. Malcolm sat in the armchair, while Fiona stayed by the door, arms crossed over chest. Baz was holding Simon’s hand quite tight. Simon held him just as much.

“Fourteen years ago,” Malcolm said, “David approached me. It was a few weeks after the fire. The court was pushing for me or Fiona to take the throne, but both of us were still incredibly grief stricken, obviously. David proposed that instead of one of us, he would take over as king. I said no, of course. But then, well, he spoke completely in hypotheticals, but his meaning was clear. Essentially, he said that there was a chance that Basil was still alive. And the only way he’d stay that way was if Fiona and I supported David’s bid for the throne. I told him to go to hell at first, even pushed him against a wall. But then...he gave me this.”

Malcolm reached into his jacket, and pulled something small and silver. He dangled it between his thumb and forefinger for everyone to see. It was a half circle charm. On the front was a flame insignia, and when it twisted to the side, Simon saw _T. B. Grimm-Pitch_ carved in loopy letters on the back. Simon instinctively looked at Baz’s neck, where the silver chain peaked out of his dirty tunic.

“The other half of Baz’s necklace, right?” Simon asked.

Malcolm nodded, putting the charm back in his coat. “Yes. Natasha and I had this made for Basil the day he was born. No one knew about it’s existence except for us and Fiona. So, when David had it, well, he was more convincing. He said if we didn’t endorse him and do as he said, the small chance that Basil was still alive would go away. It was quite the ultimatum.”

“We didn’t know if he was telling the truth, of course,” Fiona piped in. “He could’ve just found the charm in the wreckage from the fire. But...we decided we didn’t want to take the risk, in case Basil really was alive. So Malcolm told them to stop looking for Basil’s body, David became king, and we let him do every batshit crazy thing he wanted. And whenever we made a stir or he wanted to do something particularly insane, he gave us more ‘proof’. A drawing, some writing, locks of hair. We still had no idea if any of it was really Basil’s, if you were even alive at all."

"We tried to send scouts to find you once," Malcolm said. "But David found out and threatened to kill you for our insolence. Fiona wanted to keep searching in secret, but I decided it was better to keep you alive if you were truly out there.” He looked at Baz, eyes round and regretful. "I'm sorry I gave up, Basil. I should have looked harder for you. I was afraid."

The room was quiet. No one dared speak. Simon looked to Baz. His thin lips were pressed together. He looked hurt, but also a bit sympathetic. He nodded slowly. "I understand. You wanted to protect me. You couldn't have known I was hidden so close."

Malcolm flinched slightly, the words probably a bit stinging to him. He nodded, and Baz did right after. Everyone, even social cue blind Simon, knew this was only the start of a longer conversation. One that would take awhile and was long overdue between long separated father and son.

"Well," Fiona said loudly, trying to break the tension, "I truly hope David rots in Hell for everything he did." She looked right at Baz, mouth pulled up in a playful smile. “But we’re very glad he wasn’t a complete lying bastard as well.”

Baz chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, we can be thankful he had at least one redeeming quality.” He sighed and ran his hand through his tangled, dirty hair. “I suppose that’s why he kept me alive even after I tried to escape. I was good leverage. Guess it was better that he cursed me instead of killed me...”

His face twisted. Simon didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, but he put arm around his shoulders anyways and Baz leaned into him. Simon didn’t care who saw them right now. Baz needed him. That was all that mattered.

“Did, uh, did the guards find the lake?” Simon asked quietly. “And...his body?”

The whole room went deathly silent again. It seemed most of them were afraid to move. Baz slowly put a hand on Simon’s thigh. Fiona’s arms fell, hands linked in front of herself.

“Yes,” she said, “they found the lake and King David’s body. He’s been brought back. Lord Wellbelove will properly examine him later.”

Simon nodded while chewing his lip. Baz put an arm around him. His friends looked at him with roud, sympathetic eyes. “And...they really believe us? About what happened?”

Malcolm nodded. “With your’s and Basil’s matching testimonies, yes, I think they do. There will have to be a more a formal investigation, but I hope they’ll come to the conclusion that you were acting self defense. Especially considering David’s well known unpleasant demeanor and now revealed crimes.”

Simon let out a breath. “Okay, okay. So I’m not getting executed?”

“No, I highly doubt so. Though some more loyal council members spoke of charges...”

“Yeah, like your supporters will let that happen,” Fiona snorted

Simon gaped at her. His heart was thumping almost painfully in his chest. “What? What are you talking about?”

“When I left the council room, there was a whole group of people waiting outside, all worried about you. Kept asking if you were okay. They all offered to testify to your character, that you would never kill the king in cold blood like they'd heard. Word spreads too damn fast in this court.”

His eyes went even wider. "Really?

_"Yes,"_  she groans."Why would I lie about this? It's too insane to lie about. There were tons of people. Servants, teachers, former classmates, a few of the nobility, even my old friend Ebb were all there. They barely understood what was going on but they all wanted to make sure you weren’t in trouble. If the council members truly want to charge you, I think they'll have to get through a wall of people first. I don’t know how you did it, princeling, but everyone loves you.”

Baz ran his hand up and down Simon’s arm, beaming brightly. “I can understand that.”

Simon blushed again and looked at the ground. “Baz, stop.”

“Never.”

“Gods, ” Penny groaned, “you’re two are going to make me throw up. And I don’t think Agatha and Philippa would appreciate sick on their gowns.”

Both the aforementioned girls pulled to the side, holding their skirts. Simon gave her a withering look. Fiona hid her laughed behind her hand. Baz looked at Penelope, tilting his head. “You know, I think I’m going to like you.”

Penny tilted her head as well. The smallest smirk pulled at her lip. “Maybe I’ll like you too.”

Simon smiled. He had a feeling they were right. Baz and Penny were too similar to not get along in some probably weird way. That was good. Simon wanted Baz to get along with all his friends, hopefully.

“So that’s it for now?” Philippa asked. “None of us are going to be called to the council again today?”

Fiona shook her head. “No, all the council has gone to bed, thankfully. I think they’re all a bit too exhausted to deal with anything else.”

“I understand,” Simon groaned. “I feel like the dead walking.”

“I second that,” Baz said.

Malcolm stood up, straightening his jacket. “I think we could all use some rest after tonight. We’ll talk to the council and court later about Basil’s position. But if Simon is going to rescind his claim...”

“I will, don’t worry about that.”

“Then I doubt there will be much debate. Basil, you’re still technically the heir, since you’re still alive and all.”

“Yes, I am, last time I checked.”

Malcolm let out a breath through his nose, the closest to a real laugh Simon was sure he was capable of. “Yes, you definitely are.” He took a step forward, standing over Simon and Baz. Slowly, cautiously, he put a strong hand on Baz’s shoulder. His smile was small but very real. “We’re all happy to have you here, Basil. When you’re ready, Daphne and the kids would love to meet you.”

Baz nodded. He had the exact same sort of smile. “I would like that. Thank you...Father.”

The minuscule change in Malcolm’s expression somehow spoke volumes. He patted Baz’s shoulder one more time before backing away. Fiona came up, grabbed Baz’s jaw with both hands, and kissed him squarely on forehead. Baz looked slightly panicked, eyes sliding over Simon’s. Simon squeezed his hand to comfort while trying to hide his laugh.

“It’s good to have you home, little puff,” she whispered.

Simon watched as Baz practically melted. For someone supposedly jaded and cold, he went mushy under affection. He held Fiona’s wrist with his free hand. “It’s good to be home.”

The fact that Baz could say home now and mean it was downright incredible. Fiona kissed him one more time, then left with Malcolm. Simon turned his attention to the three teenage girls still sitting on Simon’s couch.

“Shouldn’t you three be getting to bed too?” he asked.

“I suppose we should,” Agatha sighed. She stood up with both hands on her hips. “Alright, ladies, let’s leave these two lovebirds alone and actually get some rest.”

Philippa stood and arched her back like a cat. “Agreed. I need to see my parents too. They’re probably beside themselves.”

“Mine too,” Penelope added. “Let’s get going.”

Simon hugged all three of them tight as they left, mumbling more thanks in their ears. The second the door was closed, Simon flopped face first into the bed. He groaned deeply into the pillow.

“I don’t wanna move ever again,” he mumbled.

Baz chuckled, shimmying up next to him. “Well, you’ve had a long day, love.”

Simon turned his head. Baz hovered over him, cheek resting on his hand. There was still some dried blood on his forehead and dark bags hung under his eyes. But he was here, in Simon’s bed, completely human during the day, and that was too much of a miracle for him to care about appearances. “So have you.”

“Definitely. And I am positively knackered.” Baz relaxed his arm, letting his head fall down onto the pillow. His eyes slid shut. Simon shuffled closer. He took Baz’s rough hand in his.

“You okay?”

Baz didn’t open his eyes. But he shuffled closer, and held Simon’s hand very tight. “I don’t know. Are you?”

Simon bit his lip, then shrugged up to his ears. “I don’t know either. I mean, I’m glad you’re uncursed, and back with your family, and we’re both alive. But...a lot has happened.”

“Yeah,” Baz sighed, “I know what you mean.” His eyes half opened, looking like two small half moons. He ran his fingers through Simon’s tangled hair as best he could. “I’m sorry, Simon. If I had stayed concentrated, I-”

“No,” Simon said, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault. Of course you didn’t mean to let him move, I don’t blame you. I-I had to, to protect you. He was a monster anyway.”

Baz sighed. He spread his fingers on the nape of Simon’s neck. “I’m still sorry you had to do that. Killing is horrible business, no matter who dies. And no matter how much of a monster he was, Simon, you still had a relationship with him. It has to hurt, and I wish I could take that hurt away.”

Simon squeezed his eyes shut. Baz slowly ran his thumb over Simon’s cheek, smoothing out wrinkles, catching the tears. Simon knew he was right. He hated it, but Baz was right. Just like Penny was right. His heart ached so terribly it pushed more tears from his eyes. But Baz was right there to wipe them away.

“Is it bad that I’m still sort of sad he’s dead?” he asked, voice quiet and pained.

“No,” Baz said, “it’s not. Nothing you’re feeling is bad. Remember what you told me?”

“I’ve told you lots of things. You don’t listen sometimes.”

Baz chuckled. He held Simon’s face tighter. “Well, yes, but I listened to this.” Simon felt Baz’s cool lips lightly press against his cheek. “It’s okay that you’re not.”

Simon finally let himself breathe. He was still crying, his chest still hurt, but he felt just a bit better. Thank all the gods for Baz.

“Okay,” he whispered. “You’re right. Well, _I’m_ right.”

Baz snorted. “Yes, you are, love. Don’t get used to me admitting that too much though.”

“Oh, never. It would be too out of character for you.”

They laughed together, giggles filling the small space between them. It was good, it felt right. And even though Simon knew they certainly weren’t okay right now, but they were going to be alright.

Silence resumed. It was calm and peaceful, despite the blood on Baz’s forehead and the tear stains on Simon’s face. They didn’t let go of each other’s hands. In fact, their grip was tighter. Baz kept running his fingers through Simon’s fine hairs.

“What do you think I’ll have to do?” Baz asked quietly. “Before I become king? I doubt they’ll give me throne right away. I wouldn’t even take it right now, honestly.”

Simon chuckled. “No, they won’t just hand it to you. The council will probably run stuff for now. Maybe your father or Fiona will be regent. They might want you to go to Mage’s School, or at least get a private tutor so they know you’re smart enough to rule. But you are smart. You’ll be on the throne in no time.”

Baz snorted, hand stilling on Simon’s nape. “Wonderful. Can’t wait to have that heavy metal sitting right on my head.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea what you may want to do now? Since you’re not going to be a prince anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Simon mumbled. “Not yet, at least. For a long time, I thought I wanted to be a hero like in the stories. But being a hero isn’t that great. And really...I think I just wanted to be free to do what I want. I guess I can now, but I have no clue what that is. I’ll figure it out, I think.” His eyes slid shut, a half smile playing on his lips. “Maybe I’ll teach people how to sword fight. They’ll probably be better students than you.”

Baz pinched his ankle with his toes. Simon snickered, leaning forward to brush their noses together. Baz took the opportunity to kiss him. Just a short, light press of lips, barely touching. But it was still like lightning between them. It always was.

“You’re a prick,” Bas whispered, “but I think you’d be a good teacher.”

Simon kissed him one more time. “Thank you. I think you’re going to be a good king.”

“I better be. Or I’ll be overthrown and probably deserve it.”

“Probably. So just be amazing like I already know you are.”

Baz pulled Simon against him, pushing Simon’s face into his chest and lightly playing with his curls. Simon held his back, dirty shirt twisted in his fingers. It felt like they were melting into one being. Both hurt, both a bit broken and lost. But their cracked pieces fit perfectly. They would hold each other together.

“I love you, Simon,” Baz mumbled into his thick hair.

Simon felt exhaustion seep into his bones. Before he slipped into dreams, he squeezed Baz, basking his warmth and solidness against him.

“I love you, too,” Simon whispered. And both the boys drifted off in each other’s arms, as they knew they were meant to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, they're not okay, but they're gonna get better. Baz is finally back home with his family, and there are so many people who adore Simon that they won't let the council punish him for defending someone he loves. Also I know Malcolm may seem a bit OOC, but like, he wasn't sure if Baz was alive or dead for over a decade and Davy was hanging that over him like a hostage. I think even an emotionally unavailable asshole like him would break down after seeing his possibly dead kid again, and wouldn't push him away just after getting him back. Plus there's no homophobia in this fantasy world because I say so. It's my world, dammit, and I will make it as gay friendly as I please. And I know leaving David's body seems cold, but in my mind they had to get to court as soon as possible, because all of the council members are there for the ball and they'd need all of them to hear about Baz and what happened with David. There's only so long Agatha, Penny, and Philippa can keep them there. Idk hope that makes sense. Anywho, long writing explanation over, hope you guys liked this. Next chapter will be the epilogue on Thursday! :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later, Baz is taking the throne with Simon at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. Hope you enjoy :)

“I’m going to be sick,” Baz said with complete seriousness.

Simon sighed, still fixing Baz’s cloak clasp. It was shaped like a swan taking flight. Simon though it was rather pretty. However, it was also the most finicky thing in the world. But he refused to give up. “You’re not going to be sick.”

“Yes, I am. I’m going to be sick and vomit all over my father and aunt and the council and maybe even the entire court.”

 _This man is going to be the death of me,_ Simon thought. Though after almost eight years, he knew that very, very well. And he still loved Baz. He always would, no matter how unreasonably panicked the man was being.

Simon disregarded the annoying clasp for a second. He put both his hands on Baz’s shoulders, fingers pressed into the soft fabric of the bright red cloak. “Baz, listen to me; you’re _not_ going to be sick. You’re going to walk down that aisle in front of the whole court, stand before the council, vow to protect the kingdom, and they’ll put on your fucking crown. Then after you do your speech, we’re going to get completely piss drunk at the ball and happily pass out in that bed right next to us”

Finally, Baz smiled. It was small and somewhat reluctant, but it was there. “Well, I probably shouldn’t get drunk at my own coronation ball, love. Being a responsible king and all.”

“Kings can get drunk. Shows they’re human.” He went back to the annoying clasp. “But they do have to be well dressed, unfortunately. Damn this thing...”

Baz chuckled. “I’ve seen you knock down a man twice your size in less than a minute, and a fancy cloak is going to defeat you?”

“Yeah, yeah shut up. Or I’ll knock you down on your royal arse.”

“Last I checked, you liked my royal arse, Snow.”

Simon glared at him, but it was hard to stay mad at Baz. Even with his stupid smug smirk, he was still gorgeous, incredible, amazing, perfect, and every other adjective he could think of. Baz was still everything to him.

Finally, miraculously, Simon got the clasp right, fitting the swan’s body into its wings with a click. Simon patted it and looked up at Baz with a grin. “There, you’re ready.”

Baz blew a long stream of air out his lips, cheeks puffing out. His eyes looked like a frightened squirrel or deer. “Am I? Am I really?”

Simon frowned, holding Baz’s forearms tight. “You alright, love?”

“Yes, of course.” Simon gave a very particular look. He only used it when Baz was bullshitting him. And Baz knew that. He deflated, shoulders slumping forward and fingers drumming on Simon’s arm. “I don’t know. I’ve been preparing for this for years. But what if it I mess it up? Not just the coronation ceremony, what if I mess up being king? I spent the majority of my life in a bloody lake, and then a good chunk of it under a fucking swan curse. I was alone for six years. How could someone who grew up like that be a king?”

Simon frowned even more. He stepped closer, looking directly into Baz’s eyes. “Baz,” he said firmly, “you are so much more than a cursed boy in a lake. You’re one of the smartest, kindest, strongest people I know. You’re incredible.”

“If you say so,” Baz mumbled. Once again, Simon wished he could slap the self loathing away. He grabbed both of Baz’s cheeks, forcing him to look forward.

“Baz, you _are_ _._ You graduated Mage’s School in a record six years. And don’t say the teachers went easy on you because you’re a prince, I saw what they gave you and how hard you worked.” Baz shrugged. Simon held him tighter. “On top of that, we both know you could’ve just taken the throne after graduating. Other people would’ve. But instead, you spent a whole year travelling the kingdom, talking to the people and listening to what they wanted.”

“Anyone could’ve done that...”

“But you actually doing something! You’re going to create a place for common folk to bring up issues to the court. You’re going to let them have a voice in stuff. No ruler has done that before. David sure as shit wouldn’t have. But you are. And stuff like that is going to make you a great king, because you’re a really great person.”

Baz's worry started to melt away, all the muscles in his body unwinding. His lip quirked up in amusement. “You know, you can be very eloquent when you want to.”

Simon shrugged, draping his arms across Baz’s shoulders. “I have my moments, I guess. Teaching has certainly helped.”

Baz hugged his waist tight. “I do hope so. Otherwise I’m truly concerned for your students.”

 _“ You_ were my first student.”

“Yes, exactly.” Simon flicked his pointy ear. Baz leaned forward, touching their foreheads, a stray piece of black hair tickling Simon's skin. “You are a good teacher though, love. Shortening my time at school was definitely partly because of you. Especially for fencing exams.”

Simon grinned. “Okay. I’ll happily take the credit for that.”

Baz laughed, shaking his head against Simon’s. “Thought you would.” He ran his hands up and down Simon’s back, playing with the fancy jacket Simon was reluctantly wearing. “And you’re a great person too, Simon. You reassure me so quickly, but I want you to remember that you’re also good.”

Simon gulped. He knew what Baz meant. Of course he knew what he meant. They had spent the better part of their first years together dealing with what happened the last night in the lake. Simon had spent many hours pressed against Baz, crying and shaking, trying to come down from another terrifying dream where David’s blood coated his hands. The council did officially conclude Simon acted in self defense, keeping him from murder and treason charges. They also found David posthumously guilty of kidnapping, arson, blackmail, murder, illegal spell casting, and theft of multiple items, even Queen Natasha’s wand. He was a horrible man who stepped on those who got in his way. Simon knew he had done what was needed that night, to protect himself and Baz. But it didn’t make Simon feel any less rotten inside sometimes.

He lowered his forehead onto Baz’s shoulder, sinking into the feeling of Baz stroking his back. “I know,” he mumbled. “I-I think I do. But...you may still have to remind me every once in awhile too.”

Baz kissed his temple. “I will, Snow, I always will.”

Simon sighed, pulling back and subtly wiping a few tears from his cheek. “Thanks. I promise I’ll do the same for you.”

Baz smirked, a playful glint in his pretty eyes. “Well, good to know this is truly a relationship of equals in matters beyond just our bed.”

They giggled to themselves, still wrapped in each other’s arms. It was Simon’s favourite place to be. They stayed there for awhile. Until Baz looked down, and his body tensed up, and Simon knew the stupid, amazing git was nervous again.

“Wait, is your jacket right?” Baz asked.

Baz sadly let Simon’s waist go and leaned back. He started messing with the gold hooks of Simon’s brocade jacket. Simon sighed. _Two steps forward, one step back with this man,_ he thought. “Baz, it’s fine.”

“It’s just off...”

“No, it’s fine. You’re still worried and finding something to fuss with to distract yourself.”

Baz, a man who was soon to be crowned king, pouted like a toddler. “No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Stop pretending. I know when you’re lying.”

He pouted even more, narrowed eyes flicking up to Simon’s. “When did you get so insightful?”

Simon shrugged. “Well, talking to my therapist helps with perspective in general, for one. And you’re so panicked right now that I'm calm and reasonable in comparison.”

“Dear gods, that is worrying.” He pulled and tugged at Simon's shirt hook with a frown. “Damn this thing, it’s worse than my cloak.”

Simon sighed. He grabbed Baz’s hands, pulling them from his coat and carefully putting them back at his waist, just where he liked them. And he held Baz’s neck again, fingers pressing into his nape.

“Baz,” he said softly, “what is it? What’s still bugging you? Get it off your chest before the ceremony. You’ll feel better.”

Baz took a long, deep breath, pulling Simon closer. “I know we’ve already talked about this a lot,” he said, “but it's especially prevalent in my mind right now. I can’t help but wonder, what would my mother think of me? Would she like the way I’m going to do things? The way I’m going to run the kingdom?”

Simon suddenly felt like he was transported to when he was a prince. So scared of how good he’d be, how he’d even run a kingdom. He thought he had to be like David in order to be good, and he knew a part of Baz thought the same of Natasha.

“She’d be proud of you,” Simon whispered. “And remember, you don’t have to be exactly like her, Baz. Be like you.”

The long breath Baz let out was a relief for both of them. Baz leaned down and kissed Simon. Simon sighed into it, clenching his fist in Baz’s soft hair and pulling him closer. His mouth still tasted of their breakfast in bed from the morning. It was an intoxicating mix of sweet strawberries, the citrus tang of orange, and a hint of butter and sour cherry scones. All dancing across Baz’s smooth lips and onto Simon’s. It was perfect.

Simon reluctantly pulled away. Unfortunately, they didn’t have much time left. The ceremony was a few minutes away, and Baz needed to not look recently snogged before he went out.

“Alright, uh...your hair is a bit, um...here let me.” Simon reached up and tried to smooth back the parts of Baz’s hair that he had messed up. Even though he personally liked it falling in Baz's face, the court preferred him looking proper and such.

Baz chuckled. He caught Simon’s hand as it lowered, then pressed a soft kiss to his inner wrist. The feeling jolted through Simon’s body and warmed his heart. Not many people got to see Baz like this. Everyone assumed he was a cold but smart and regal type, while Simon knew deep down he was like this; so unbelievably kind and caring.

“You know,” Baz said as he tried to flatten Simon’s now slightly rumpled jacket, “the council has been talking about you.”

Simon groaned, head tilting back. “Oh for fuck’s sake. They’re not still bugging you about an heir, are they? I thought you shut them down pretty firmly. The people like us too much anyway, they'd never accept putting you in an arranged marriage.”

“Agreed,” Baz sighed, playing with Simon's hair in that slow, maddening, amazing way. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh really?” 

“Really. The council has finally realised there’s no point trying to split us up, what with mine and the people’s inevitable protests.”

“Well, that’s good.” Simon wasn’t really paying attention. He knew all of this already. They had discussed a thousand times in a thousand ways. The council didn't like a future ruler who couldn't guarantee an heir. Apparently the same thing had happened with David, and Simon's adoption had been the solution instead of arranged marriage. In their case now, enough smooth talking from Baz, political maneuvering from Malcolm, and unasked for thinly veiled threats from Fiona had made the council come to terms with Baz's refusal to give up Simon. None of this was news.

“Certainly," Baz said. "But it means they’ve moved their focused to something else. Now, they’re chattering about ‘showing stability in the throne and ‘appealing to the people’s wants.’”

Simon froze, fingers halfway through spinning one of Baz’s hand carved ebony buttons. His ribcage hurt from how hard his heart was thumping. He wanted it to be about what he thought it was, but he knew it was bad to assume.

“I...see...” Simon said with a slight nervous cough. “Sounds like they’re still pushy.”

“Yes, agreed. But I sort of like the direction they’re going in for once.”

“And...what direction would that be?”

Baz placed his hand over Simon’s, fire callused fingers pressing into his skin. Simon tried to look down, but Baz tilted his chin up with one finger. Their eyes met, and Simon swore all his words and coherent thought were lost to that deep sea grey. It was too easy to just melt into them sometimes.

“That direction,” Baz whispered, “would be, maybe one day, making our already well known relationship legally official.”

There it was. Simon’s face bloomed into a brighter red than the strawberries they ate earlier. Baz grinned with all his pearly white teeth. Simon hated how smug he looked, but at the same time he wanted to kiss him. It was a confusing hurricane of emotion.

“Oh,” he squeaked. “I-I see.”

“Feeling alright there, Snow?” Baz teased.

Simon rolled his eyes. “Shut up, arsehole. You just...caught me a bit off guard. Have the council really been talking about that, for us?”

“M-hm. They think it would be very beneficial for the crown. Nobility and the people alike know we’re together. All of them would probably very much like us making it official. There wouldn’t be much of a difference for us, anyway. We’ve already been living together for three years.”

“Yeah, that’s true, I guess.” He ran his fingers against Baz’s annoyingly firm chest. “What would I be called? A queen? I don’t want to be a queen.”

“No, Snow, of course you wouldn’t be a queen,” Baz giggled. “You would be officially called prince consort.” Simon stuck his tongue out, and Baz frowned in confusion. “What on earth is that face for?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed over dramatically. “‘Consort’...it sounds weird. Like, I’m ‘consorting’ with you? Not sure I like that. Sounds almost kind of dirty.”

Baz gaped at him. “My father was my mother's prince consort!”

“Well, that’s not much of an endorsement.” Baz glared. Though he and his father didn’t have a perfect relationship, annoying expectations being tangled up with abandonment issues and what not, Baz still had some sense of loyalty to him. And he definitely had loyalty to his mum.

Simon let out the snorty laugh he had been stifling, doubling over with giggles. “You’re so easy to tease, love.” Baz glared even harder. So Simon kissed the corner of his frown, and Baz melted.

“How about,” he started, “you tell me what being a prince consort would mean. Davy never explained stuff like that to me. And I don’t really want to be a real prince again. Fuck, would I have to give up teaching?”

Baz shook his head, dislodging some precariously placed strands of hair. “No, you can still teach. Honestly, the position is mostly ceremonial, unless you want to help with policy. You would have to attend galas, come to official dinners, maybe go with me on some diplomatic missions as long as they don’t interfere with your classes.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “I do all of that stuff already.”

“Exactly. Like I said, it wouldn’t be much different from how we already are. Just with a title, a piece of paper, and a big party.”

“Hm, I like the sound of a party. Parties mean lots of food.”

“Of course you’d like that,” Baz sighed. “Do you...like the other parts of it? I promise, you won’t have to be a real prince, I would never put that burden on you again. And it probably won’t happen right away. Maybe a year or two into my reign, once I’m settled in as king and the People’s Forum is fully established. I don’t know. It would happen eventually. That is, if you want it to...”

Simon knew the answer. It had been his answer for a very, very long time. Just as he as about to open his mouth though, there was a loud knock on the door. Both boys jolted.

“Who is it?” Baz asked.

“It’s me, Basil,” Lord Grimm replied from the other side of the door. “May I come in?”

Baz looked to Simon, and Simon nodded. “Yes, you may.”

The door creaked open, and Malcolm stepped through. He was dressed in his best suit, with fancy gold embroidery and fabric that faded from brown to black, and colours of his crest. Simon thought they were dreadfully boring but he wouldn’t say that out loud. Miraculously, he and Malcolm were still on good terms, and he wanted them to stay that way.

“Good day, Basil,” he said. “You look very handsome."

Baz smiled softly. "Thank you, Father."

"Are you ready? The council wanted me to fetch you.”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Baz chuckled. He took Simon’s other hand for a moment. “You should get down to the hall, love. Go get your seat. I’ll be down there soon.”

“Yeah, okay, see you.” He dropped Baz’s hand and went towards the door. “Good to see you, Lord Grimm.

He bowed his head slightly, a polite smile on his mouth. “It’s a pleasure to see you as well, Sir Snow.”

“Simon, wait,” Baz said. He strode over to Simon, red cape flapping behind him gloriously. He pushed Simon slightly behind the door, out of Malcolm’s view, then kissed him hard. It made Simon’s head spin and his legs wobble. Before he knew it, Baz was moving away from him. The kiss was like a thunderstorm; strong, dizzying, and brief. Simon blinked rapidly, trying to regain some semblance of steadiness. Baz grinned that mischievous, self satisfied grin Simon secretly adored.

“I’ll see you later, love,” he whispered.

“See you, love,” Simon replied, brain still reeling a bit.

He pecked Simon one last time, then carefully shut door of their room. Simon almost skipped down the stone hallway.

* * *

 

“There you are,” Agatha said as Simon sat next to her at the front of the hall. “Where have you been?”

“Helping Baz with his cloak,” Simon replied.

Penelope leaned forward past Agatha, frowning very deeply. “Is that an innuendo for something? Because we don’t want to know.”

Philippa leaned out past her, shaking her head. “Yeah, we definitely don’t.”

Simon narrowed his eyes at them. “It’s not, you arseholes. His cloak has that stupid swan clasp. It’s fucking impossible, even with my help.”

“If you say so, Si.” He glared harder at Penelope, his lovely amazing friend, who could still driving him absolutely crazy sometimes. That seemed to be true of all his friendships.

“How is Prince Basilton feeling, anyway?” Philippa asked.

“He’s alright,” Simon sighed. “A bit freaked out, naturally, but alright. I assured him he was going to be a good King and he calmed down pretty quickly.

Penelope looked very concerned from over Agatha’s shoulder. “A bit late for him to be having doubts, isn’t it?”

“Pen, he’s been having doubts for seven and a half years. And I guarantee he’ll still have doubts seven and a half years from now. But he’s going to be a good king, I know it.”

“I bloody well hope he is,” she mumbled.

“I second that,” Philippa piped in. “I’d like to have a nice King for the west, please.”

Simon smiled at her, reaching around the other two to pat her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Pippa, you will. I can vouch for that.”

“M-hm. And you’re not just saying that because you’re stupidly in love with him?” Agatha asked playfully.

Simon shrugged with a shy smile, cheeks burning like the sun. “Well, that may be a small factor.” He rubbed the back of his neck, blush rapidly spreading. “He, uh, sort of actually...proposed to me today...”

All three of their jaws fell to the floor. Agatha, being the closest, threw her arms around Simon’s shoulder in a side hug and jumped up and down. A few of the nobles shushed her, and she glared at them. Agatha now lived in the far south permanently. And her time away from court had turned her low level dislike for it into a complete disregard for it’s norms.

“Simon!” she squealed. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks, Aggie,” he chuckled.

Penelope leaned closer, grinning ear to ear. “That’s amazing, Si. Congratulations.”

“And you said yes, right?” Philippa asked giddily. “Please tell me you said yes. I want to help plan a royal wedding.”

“Well, I was about to answer, but then Lord Grimm walked in and I didn’t get a chance.”

Agatha pouted, looking quite cross. “Boo Lord Grimm! May the gods condemn him.”

“That’s a bit harsh, Aggie.”

“He deserves it for ruining a romantic moment!”

Philippa chuckled. “You know, for someone who bemoaned all the gross couples every night back at our Mage's School room, you’re very invested in this.”

Agatha unashamedly stuck her tongue out at her former roommate. “Those couples were annoying and not my friends.”

“Well, that makes sense, I suppose."

Agatha grinned and turned back to Simon. “Oh it’s going to be great, Si! You’ll need the decorations, fancy food, oh, and the outfits will have to be exemplary, of course. And-”

Agatha was cut off by the brassy, deafening noise of the trumpets. Everyone, including the four friends, stood up to attention. The lords and ladies of the council filed in from the side, heads held high, robes dragging on the floor. Malcolm led them up the dais. Fiona stood in the middle. She was technically the last heir, so it fell to her to pass on the throne. They all faced the crowd in a perfectly spaced out line, like a bunch of snobby statues.

The large double doors creaked open behind them, and everyone stood and turned their heads. Simon had to stop himself from running down the aisle. Baz walked down it slowly, shoulders back, chin up, every bit the strong person Simon knew he was. He was illuminated in the sunlight pouring in through stained glass, decorating him like a regal rainbow. Simon was absolutely transfixed by him, even more so than usual. Their eyes met as Baz went past. Still with a stern mouth, he winked at Simon. Not a very kingly thing, but certainly a very Baz thing.

Baz ascended the dais. He came face to face with his aunt and the council with no fear.

“Please announce your name and purpose for coming before this court,” Fiona said. Simon almost rolled his eyes. Like she and everyone else didn’t here know what was going on. It was all so annoyingly formal.

“My name is Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch,” Baz replied. “I am here to assume the throne of the Kingdom of Watford.”

The council all nodded. Lord Grimm at the end picked up a very large book and passed it down the line like a group of stone workers hauling bricks. Fiona held in front of Baz with both hands. “Then make the king’s oath with your right hand upon the Laws of Watford.”

Baz delicately placed his right hand on the book. “I, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, son of Natasha Ophelia Grimm-Pitch, promise to be the guardian of Watford. I shall be the defense between this kingdom and anything that wishes it harm. I shall make it flourish and thrive. I shall serve its people until my very last breath. All these vows I make with a clear heart and mind. I ask for the court to accept my service.”

Fiona looked out towards the court. “Does the court accept his service?”

“We do,” the crowd replied. Simon knew they had to say that, but he also knew many of the nobles truly wanted Baz to be king. The people loved Baz, both for his grand life story and for his common folk focused policies. The nobility started with fears but had come around to him more and more over time. Simon could understand. He knew very well how hard it was to not love Baz.

“Very well,” Fiona said with a twinge of satisfaction, even though she was supposed to be serious. “Please kneel and accept the crown.”

Baz went on one knee, head bowed forward. Lord Stainton picked up the crown from behind him. It had been specifically crafted for Baz. Made from black metal, it glinted perfectly in the multi coloured light. The eight small points were decorated with dark purple gems that were placed to look like wings. Tiny little diamonds were artfully lined all the way around. Simon loved the intricacies of the smith work himself. Every twist, every curl, every tiny detail in the lattice was perfect. And it looked even better as Fiona placed it on Baz’s head.

Slowly, carefully, Baz went back to his feet. He turned to the crowd. Simon knew Baz was incredible long before he was ever crowned a king. But right now, with his blood red cape, dark crown, and determined expression, he looked so strong. And Simon was very, very proud.

“Presenting,” a guard yelled, “King Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch the Third, ruler and lord protector of Watford. All hail the king!”

“All hail the king!” The court parroted back. “All hail the king! All hail the king!”

One of the court mages at the front pulled her wand from her robe. She waved it across the sky, and the large banners unfurled. Simon grinned even harder, though it was a bit smug to do so. He _had_ designed them after all. Six months ago, Baz had asked him to make him a new crest for his reign, something that represented his legacy but also himself on his own. Simon spent days making sketches, discussing it with Baz and the council. Eventually, after some convincing by Simon, they settled on a design, now hanging over everyone;

A dark red banner covered in flames, with a field at the bottom, and a black swan rising above into the sky, flying to freedom.

The crowd burst into loud claps. Everyone looked incredibly pleased. Agatha, Philippa, and Penny, clapped very hard. Baz's younger siblings, who had all come to adore their long lost brother, were literally jumping up and down. Simon himself whooped and hollered without shame, earning glares from the older nobility. Fuck them though. The man Simon loved was just crowned king. He was allowed to be overly excited. Fiona and Malcolm were both grinning ear to ear, clapping hard. It was an usually unabashed display of emotion for them, which they should honestly do more often. Baz still looked strong and noble and all that shit as he surveyed the crowd. Finally, his eyes met Simon’s and they stayed.

 _Told you so,_ Simon mouthed.

The corners of Baz’s mouth turned up slightly. And it meant everything.

* * *

 

Simon wasn’t a huge fan of crowds. Sometimes even less than Baz, who at least had the excuse of being raised in isolation for years. Simon lived around people growing up, they were just giant arseholes. The court weren’t all arseholes, really. There was just...a lot of them.

Everyone was packed into the ballroom, drinking and dancing, waiting for the brand new king to come back from his procession and speech at the town square. He had asked Simon if he wanted to come yesterday, but Simon respectfully declined. He knew that if he was there, everyone would focus on them as a storybook couple; The great hero and the love he saved. Baz needed them to see him as their new king right now, not just the formerly cursed swan man. So Baz was there, and Simon was here. Though right now, he wished more than usual that they were together.

It didn’t help that all three of Simon’s close friends were spread out. Agatha was chatting with her old friend, Minty, somewhere. Penelope and Micah were discussing new spells for the next standard grimoire with their fellow court mages. Philippa had probably slinked off to the library to read fairy tales instead of having to attend this ball. Right now, Simon wished to join her.

“Sir Snow! How are you?” Lord Hamish asked as he approached. He was a jovial man, if not a bit pushy.

Simon quickly chewed his tiny cheese quiche and swallowed. “Hello, Lord Hamish. I’m good. How are you?”

“Very well, very well. Enjoyed the ceremony?”

“Um, yeah. Did you?”

“Oh yes. I’m glad to see King Tyrannus on the throne, especially after all the hardship he went through, that terrible curse and all. I’m guessing you agree.”

Simon chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, definitely. Happy to see B- King Tyrannus where he belongs.”

“Yes, very good, very good.” He turned more towards Simon. “Say, you’re still the King’s...companion, right?”

Simon stifled a sigh. “Companion”, that was a new one. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a good word for a long term romantic relationship between people who weren’t married or betrothed. Simon was used to it. “Companion” was at least better than “lover”, “sweetheart”, or “bedfellow”.

“Yes, I am.” Simon said as calmly as he could. “At least I still was the last time I checked.”

Lord Hamish laughed loudly. “Wonderful, very happy for you two. Your story is absolutely incredible, both of you are so strong. Say,” he leaned closer, “would you happen to know the King’s policy on school funding? There’s a school house near my estate that’s in terrible disrepair. I wonder if he could direct any funds towards it.”

Simon kept his groan on the inside. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Lord Hamish. I don’t know anything about kingdom funds. I’m not a prince anymore, or even a lord. I’m just the sword teacher at the Mage’s School.”

“Well, don’t sell yourself short, Sir Snow, you’re a bit more than that. You’re a great hero, and everyone knows you’re closer to the King than anyone. You would know if he has mentioned anything.”

“Well, he doesn’t always tell me everything.” Simon looked down at his empty plate and cup. “Excuse me, I-I’m quite...hungry.”

Simon scurried off towards the food table. Maybe he should stay there for the rest of the night. Just hide behind the stacks of pastries and fancy meats. That would be his heaven.

“Sir Snow! There you are!” Simon froze in the middle of stacking his plate with mini scones. He lifted his eyes, and unfortunately saw Lady Morgan, mother of his former classmate, Rhys. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Sir Snow.”

“Pleasure to see you too, Lady Morgan,” he said.

“How are you, love? It’s been ages since I saw you.”

“I’m well. How are you?”

“I’m also well. How is our dear King? Has he considered the new farming initiative in the east? We’ve been working on it for quite awhile.”

Simon started pouring a tall glass of bubbling wine. He still hated northern spirits, but he’d developed somewhat of a taste for the sweeter alcohols, especially right now. “I don’t know, Lady Morgan,” he grumbled. “You’ll have to ask the King himself at the next council meeting.”

“Oh dear, that’s a shame. After such a grand journey, I’m very sorry that you two have separated.”

Simon sputtered into his wine, bubbly liquid definitely going down the wrong way. He thumped his chest and attempted to talk through the pain. “What?! No! No, we’re not...separated. I just don’t remember everything about policy, I’m not any good at it. There’s a damn good reason I gave up the crown.”

Lady Morgan seemed a bit taken aback, blinking rapidly and linking her hands together over her stomach. “Oh...I see. Well, if you get the chance, it would be wonderful if you mentioned the initiative to the King.”

“Um, I don’t really feel comfortable doing-”

“Farewell, Sir Snow!” she called as she walked off. Simon groaned and downed the rest of his wine. He should be used to this by now. People were already trying to get him to use his influence back when Baz was still just a prince. Now it was only going to get worse. Baz was worth it though. Also thank the gods for wine.

“Good evening, Sir Snow,” some random lord said as he approached him. “How are you?”

“Um, I’m good, I-”

“Sir Snow!” Another random nobility came up to him with a plastered on grin. “Enjoying the festivities?”

“Uh, yeah-”

“Sir Snow? Is that you? I was hoping to discuss something with you.” A third fancily dressed person came up towards him.

They all started chatting away at him. Simon tried to answer them, but honestly he could barely hear what they were saying. Funding this, taxes that. It was all a lot of political jargon he hardly understood as a prince, let alone years later. He and Baz didn’t even discuss this stuff. Baz just ranted while Simon told him  it was all alright. He tried to say as much, but the nobles were too loud and pushy. Maybe he could get out through a gap and get the fuck away. He just needed an escape.

“Excuse me,” a very familiar, very comforting voice said, “may I intrude?”

All the nobility turned around, then immediately bowed deeply. Simon didn’t.  Simon just sighed with relief. Baz was dressed in his black and silver feather suit, brand new crown, and beloved necklace, both his half circles charms on full display. He must’ve changed after his speech. He looked incredible.

“Y-Your Majesty,” a lord said. “Apologies, we, uh, didn’t hear you come in.”

“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t want a fanfare for a simple entrance. Please, rise, good lords and ladies.”

They all cautiously stood straight, still looking at the floor. “Congratulations on your coronation, your majesty,” a lady said quietly

Baz nodded at her. “Thank you. Now, do excuse me, but I need to borrow Sir Snow.” He offered his hand, fire rough palm up, smiling at Simon. “Would you like to dance?”

Simon put down his plate and glass, and grasped Baz’s hand firmly. “Always.”

“Wonderful. Let’s go.”

Baz pulled him from the swarm of nobility and led him through the larger crowd, their joint hands held high. Everyone parted to make a path, bowing as they want past. It made Simon a bit uncomfortable. He didn't like being bowed to, and neither did Baz, honestly. But it seemed like a minor struggle compared to those of others, or even just their own pasts.

“How are you, love?” Baz asked

“Good. How was the town speech?”

“It went very well. I missed you, though.”

Simon squeezed his hand lightly. “I missed you too.”

They reached the dancefloor, which was fully cleared for just the two of them. The music was melodious, soft, perfect for a nice dance. Baz pulled Simon against him, one arm around his waist and the other outstretched. Simon held his shoulder. It was a familiar position from years of galas and practice.

“Shall we give them a show?” Baz asked with his lovely playful lilt.

Simon straightened, nose pointed high, smile mockingly smug. “Let’s.”

The two started swanning across the dance floor. Simon had learned over the years that he really only could dance with Baz. They were so in sync it usually worked. Simon still stepped on his toes sometimes, but Baz didn’t mind, mostly. Luckily, right now, they seemed to be having a good night. Every step was absolute perfection. It felt like they were floating on the clouds together. It was magical in the best way.

“So,” Simon said, “how are you feeling now? Kingly?”

“Honestly?” Baz sighed. “Not much different. Except for the heavier metal on my head. It’s...uncomfortable.”

Simon snorted. “Yeah, I remember hating my circlet. Definitely don’t miss wearing something that.”

Baz shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll get used to it, I suppose. I am glad though. I’m looking forward to making a real difference in Watford. I’m still nervous, but a little less so. I think I can do this.”

Simon slowed them down a bit, so Baz could see the truth and affection in his eyes. “You’re going to do incredible.”

“Thank you, love.” He sighed happily. ‘Hopefully I’ll be as good a king as you are a sword teacher. It will be quite a standard to live up to” Simon blushed deeply, and Baz chuckled. “Say, what was that swarm about? Did you put all the finger food on your plate again?”

Simon glared at his smug face. “No, I told you, that was a one time birthday thing. And actually, they were all asking about policies. What you thought, what I should tell you, that annoying shite. They still think I know anything about it.”

Baz sighed, holding Simon tighter. “Sorry about that, darling. Damn nobles are so pushy.”

“Yeah, I know. I thought court bullshit would get better when I wasn’t a prince, but it’s actually gotten worse. They think I’m like, their secret message delivery system to you.”

“M-hm. They’re under the incredibly false impression that I listen to you.” Simon purposely stepped on his toes. Baz tried to placate him with a sneaky peck to his cheek. Unfortunately, it worked. It always did. “I’ll tell the council to back off of you at the next meeting. Then the word will spread through the court, hopefully. If not, I’ll yell at them.”

“You shouldn’t do that. You need the court to like you and stuff. I’ll be fine.”

Baz stopped for moment, and Simon was worried he said something wrong. But he pulled Simon close, so close Simon could smell the remnants of his cedar and bergamot cologne. Then he put an arm around him strangely, and suddenly spun Simon outwards. Simon’s whole world turned into a blur of colours and sparkling gold for a moment. When he stopped, his eyes caught Agatha and Micah giving him a thumbs up while Penny reluctantly smiled. He was able to smile back before being spun back into Baz’s embrace. Baz’s face was warm, kind, everything Simon knew he was no matter how much sarcasm he used.

“You would be worth it,” he whispered in his ear, leading him across the dance floor again. “You would be worth the ire of a hundred courts.”

Simon’s blush creeped down his neck. He may even have gaped slightly. For most of his childhood, Simon assumed he would be alone forever. That he was so completely unlovable that even his own parents didn’t want him. Then David made whisked him away to a new life with new people and new opportunities. Penny loved him, and he loved her. However, when he thought he was in love with Agatha, he was so very, very wrong. After her, Simon knew he had figured out platonic love, but was sure he didn't know what being  _in_ love was, and he probably never would.

But here was Baz, dancing right in front of him, looking like a god, declaring he would scorn all the nobles in the world just to protect Simon’s feelings. They weren’t perfect, no one was. But they were strong, and stable, and happy with each other. Baz was everything Simon wanted in his life and so much more. He knew what being in love was now. It was making Baz laugh at the dumbest things, Baz bringing him scones after a long class, whispering to each other late at night, holding hands together in the courtyard, just as tightly as the first time they went to the solstice festival. Because they enjoyed holding on and not letting go.

Baz was all the definition of in love Simon needed. And he suddenly remembered that he never answered.

“Yes,” he blurted out.

Baz slowed their dancing a bit, looking at Simon very confused. “What? Yes to what?”

Simon slowed them even more. So Baz would focus on what he said. “My answer is yes, Baz. I’ll marry you.”

Baz’s lips fell open, eyes bigger than beautiful deep sea full moons. “Really?”

He rolled his eyes like they were two carriage wheels on a road. “Duh. I’ve wanted to marry you since we were nineteen, idiot. Of course I would say yes.”

“And, you wouldn’t mind waiting if we had to?”

Simon shook his head. They weren’t even moving that much anymore, let alone dancing. “No. It could happen next year or next week or tomorrow, and I’ll still want to marry you. I promise.”

Unknown to everyone else, Baz tended to call Simon “the sun” a lot. Or _his_ sun, which Simon liked even more. His beautiful sun, which his universe spun around. But right now, Baz’s smile was truly the sun, shining like high noon on a summer’s day. He looked so unbelievably happy, and Simon’s heart sang with joy.

With absolutely zero warning, Baz pulled Simon around and literally swept him off his feet. Simon kept a death grip on Baz's biceps. His still shining smile was surrounded by a halo of raven hair, a few strands artfully falling out of place. The black crown was slightly crooked on his forehead.

“Prince or orphan,” he whispered.

One incredible thing that Simon has discovered about being in love was the way simple things gained different meanings with your “companion.” A patch of field was a romantic haven. A kind of food made memories burst in your mind like the flavour coated your tongue. And a few meaningless words could mean so, so much more than they seemed. The true sentiment became a secret between just the pair of you. Three simple words that were nothing to others, but everything to you.

Simon deftly plucked Baz's crown from his head. Everyone gasped. Stealing a king’s crown was a capital offence. But Simon knew he was safe. He placed it lopsidedly on his own head while beaming up at Baz.

"King or swan," he replied.

 _I love you,_ they meant, _no matter what you are._

Simon grabbed Baz by his collar and pulled him down into a kiss. It was just a press of lips really, yet it felt so intense. Baz cupped his cheek, so delicate in comparison to the forceful way Simon was kissing him. The crowd clapped and cheered as they probably thought they had to, but Simon couldn’t hear them over the roaring heartbeat in his ears. He was lost to their world, too wrapped up in his own.

Simon looked forward to even more adventures his life with Baz would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks. Black Swan is done, and it's been fucking insane and awesome. I started writing this back in September. It was a huge undertaking then and still is now. There were many, many times I wasn't sure I would finish it. This is the biggest fic I've attempted, so it was a trial but also a triumph. I've proven to myself that I can write something this long. So I'm very proud I wrote this. And I'm extremely happy other people liked it too. All your kudos, comments, likes, and reblogs mean the world to me and kept me going. A big, giant thank you to every one of you readers. You're the greatest. I can't express that enough. And final thanks to Mrs_ZombieOctopus for her endless support and to bookerella for her incredible art.
> 
> My last exam is in a couple days, and requests will be open again soon. So if you liked this and want to request fics from me, feel free to then. Thanks again for reading Black Swan. Hope that was a good end. See you next time :)


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